A Day Away
by Griffinmon
Summary: Starfire of Tamaran, newly arrived on Earth, must face the tribulations of finding one’s place in a strange world, with Slade’s den of thieves as her only guide. AU, arguably cracky. Chapter five up!
1. Maybe

**A/N:** I will be writing this absurd handful of fluff and weirdness for a while to take my mind off of the CRUSHING DEPRESSION that is Phantoms of Azarath Act III. So, if you were wondering: yes, I'm still working on it.

**Disclaimer?:** I do not claim to own Teen Titans, Oliver Twist, or Annie the Musical, and I make no profit off of this abomination of literature.

**Summary?:** Starfire of Tamaran, newly arrived on Earth, must face the tribulations of finding one's place in a strange world, with Slade's den of thieves as her only guide.

**Note:** When I say "Slade finds Starfire," what I _mean_ is this fanfic is_ Little Orphan Annie _meets_ Oliver Twist_ abominationfic, in what is possibly the first implicated Slade/Starfire weirdness fluff-fest that _doesn't_ feature Slade as a creepy pedo rapist or Starfire as the perpetual love-sick wilting damsel-in-distress. Because _Jesus MacGuffin_ _you guys_, they are _neither_.

At the moment, I've set this story to finish in _approximately_ six or seven chapters. Chapters will be as long or as short as they have to be, and will likely contain a lot of oddly-placed (and somewhat subliminal) fluff. Don't worry; you'll see what I mean.

(Now ten percent more beta-read! Thanks, Cruzer.)

* * *

**A Day Away**  
by: Griffinmon

**Chapter One: Maybe**

_Betcha they're young,__  
Betcha they're smart,__  
Bet they collect things  
Like ashtrays, and art!  
Maybe they're strict,  
As straight as a line...  
Don't really care,  
As long as they're mine!_

-- Annie

--

The bustling Jump City glowed like a beacon in the night; its civic buildings were all closed, but the clubs and billboards and late-night diners were brightly lit, their dazzling neon voices painting the quiet night with promises of instant gratification. Normally, the clubs were full to bursting by this time, but tonight they stood empty and alone. A few of the larger ones had a modest show of people, mostly VIPs looking to celebrate a hard day's work.

Somewhere in the heart of the city, a cat cried, a dog howled, and a little red-haired orphan sang of hope while bitter cold settled in its bones, a good-evening reminder of the long winter that was heading this way.

Somewhere high above the city, far above the thick layer of industrial smog, the stars twinkled, the planets moved into place, the old galactic gods smiled, and, at twenty to midnight, the city fell quiet for a brief few moments.

Slade Wilson, known as Deathstroke to some and as the Terminator to others, savored the silence, crouching in the shadows on the roof of the Wayne Enterprises building, waiting. He had been here for two nights now, and he was positive that tonight opportunity would come knocking. He had taken a contract on the current head of the D'Amico mob family, and after a few hours of "gentle" questioning of a number of thugs around the area, he'd found their main hideaway. After a few days of rigorous "research" and a few called-in favors, he'd found the number to their Swiss bank accounts.

Everything had fallen into place, and all that was left was to take out the man himself, and then he could get paid, go home, and have a nice, long, well-deserved soak.

When the cars came around, Slade knew it was time. He waited until Alonzo D'Amico and his entourage of goons had all entered his complex, making their way up to the penthouse suite, where Slade would get him.

Like a shadow across the floor, Slade shifted from his spot beneath the glowing Wayne sign, and launched himself gracefully from the rooftop into the night. A well-placed rope and hook brought him to the apartment complex's face, which he then scaled by hand like a human fly. He slipped in through an open window a few floors before the penthouse, walking calmly through a dim bedroom on his way to the main hall.

There was a gasp, and Slade glanced over, just as a bedside lamp clicked on, revealing a small boy, who clutched his Superman covers to his chest with a look of fearful surprise. At his pillow sat a small and worn-looking stuffed toy dog.

Slade raised a gloved finger to his masked face, to rest against the thin slots cut there in the metal. His voice was quiet and soothing. "Quiet, now," he told the boy, "And I'll see to it that Santa gets you that puppy."

The boy's eyes went wide, and his mouth opened for a moment before he snapped it back shut and nodded furiously.

"Good boy," Slade said with an invisible smile, "Nighty-night." He took his leave from the apartment into the hall of the complex, where he then headed for the stairs. He imagined there would be guards placed there, but they would be easy to take care of.

Slade could hear two of the D'Amico bodyguards chatting loudly in the stairwell, talking in a most unchivalrous and disagreeable way about ladies, a flight above him. He made sure that the door closed quietly before hopping up onto the rails and taking a running start before springing onto a higher set of rails and taking the guards by surprise.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Slade asked genially, before smashing his steel-tipped boot into the face of one the guards. The man collapsed limply to the floor, unconscious and now missing teeth.

The other had just finished pulling his pistol when Slade took a step down from the rails and brushed the gun to the side with a swift, practiced motion. A rigid hand right in the windpipe forced the guard to double-over, gasping with difficulty; he let out a strangled gargle, pressing a hand to his throat and weakly lifting his gun. By the time he'd raised it to eye-level, Slade had him by the collar, throwing him against the wall and forcing the pistol up against the guard's own chin.

"I suggest you find a new line of work," he told the guard evenly. "I guarantee the height is bad for your health."

"_Hhhghuh kkhhgh_?" asked the guard (still struggling to breathe).

"Height," Slade repeated, with a sly smile that was impossible to see through his mask, "Is the fifth leading cause of accidental death for your age group." He glanced momentarily at the window on the stairwell landing.

The guard made a pleading whimper, though it sounded more like choking.

"Look at that," said Slade cheerily, tapping the window pane while the guard looked on in horror. "You can see the main street from here."

The guard tried to whimper again, this time shaking his head furiously.

Slade regarded the guard with a cool stare. "Oh, don't you worry. I'm not going to throw you out the window."

The guard paused in his weeping, instead blinking at Slade rather curiously.

"It would be much too _obvious_, and I'm looking for something a little more on the subtle side," he said, as he lifted the guard and hauled him over one shoulder, turning instead to the stairwell's safety rail.

They were on the eighth floor.

By the time the guard pancaked on the first, Slade was already halfway to the door of D'Amico's penthouse suite.

Naturally, there were bodyguards stationed in each hall.

None of them lasted more than a few seconds against Slade's superior experience, though one managed to fire a round (though it was easily deflected by Slade's body armor) before he found himself kicked bodily through a solid oak door.

The gunshot alerted the other guards on the floor and (no doubt) sent a number of apartment-dwellers fleeing to their phones to dial 911. With a resigned sigh, Slade rolled his shoulders and ducked behind the nearest wall. He could hear the guards – he estimated that there were five in total – barreling down the hall, drawing guns and whispering to one another in voices too loud _not_ to hear.

"Vinny, get around the corner," said one, his heavy footsteps slowing to a stop.

Slade heard the distinct sound of a shotgun hammer being cocked.

The so-named Vinny stepped slowly down the hall, approaching the turn with paranoid caution. By the certainty of his steps, Slade figured the guard must have been ex-military. Too bad, he thought.

Slade could hear breaths being held, and he smirked knowingly as he counted down the seconds in his mind. Three, two…

On one, Vinny stepped around the corner, holding his shotgun at eye-level and already squeezing the trigger. Though even with this distinct advantage, Slade already had the upper hand. He was faster, grabbing Vinny by the arm and swinging him around the corner to meet face-first with the wall. The gun went off, though by that time, Slade was already out of target range, safely behind Vinny, twisting his arm behind his back to keep him immobilized, though the shotgun was still gripped in his hand.

"Vinny?!" yelled one of the other guards, rounding the corner with a heavy-caliber pistol poised to fire.

"Vinny is occupied," replied Slade, before forcing Vinny's hand closed around the trigger. The shotgun went off, ripping a number of unfortunate-sized holes in the guard's midsection. He dropped to the ground, looking stunned for a moment, before going limp.

Slade could hear the other three guards stammering in newfound rage. He had Vinny release his gun, kicking it out into the hall where the others gathered their courage, and laughed a cruel, dark laugh that echoed hollow and demonic through his metal mask.

"Nothing personal, Vinny," he said to his captive friend. "This is business."

Upon seeing the shotgun, the remaining three charged forward, rounding the corner with weapons drawn. Slade had already moved, holding up Vinny as a human shield. Poor Vinny took the brunt of their shots, though having him in the way did nothing to deter their assault. They ignored him and continued firing at the masked intruder.

Slade pushed forward, shoving the half-dead Vinny into the largest of the guards before throwing himself down and tucking into a roll. He straightened half-way through, springing up to stand on his hands, and twisted to kick the smaller two guards, catching one in the face and the other in the back of the head. One was rendered unconscious while the other merely collapsed, screaming about a broken nose.

Slade dropped to his feet, dusting off his gloved hands. A quick snap of the leg shut the howling guard up, and Slade turned an eye to the only remaining guard, who had just thrown poor Vinny to the ground.

The guard was huge, at least twice Slade's size; he looked like he could have been a prized pugilist. It was possible he _had_ been one at some point, as shown by (Slade noted) the vague limp in one leg and the enormity of his shoulders and biceps. He also noted the light scars crisscrossing along his brows, under his eyes, his chin, and around his cheekbones.

The guard didn't move at first, contemplating the carnage that had taken place around him, all in under a minute. He glared at Slade, his dark brown eyes gleaming with hate. "Who are you?" he asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

"A man on a mission," Slade replied calmly, in a smooth voice that was utterly devoid of regret. "You seem like the intellectual sort. Run along and let me do my job."

The guard's eyes narrowed, as though realizing he was being mocked, but he remained still. "I can't let you do that," he growled.

"That's very noble," Slade said with a chuckle, "If futile. I'll kill you if I have to… but you already know that."

"I—"

"I'm running out of patience," Slade said, sharp and no longer amused.

The guard stiffened, raising his fists instinctively to guard his torso. "You're out'a time. I already--"

"You triggered D'Amico's personal silent alarm," Slade finished for him. "I know. The police will be here within the next six minutes, while D'Amico hides in his panic room." Slade raised his hands, his feet sliding into a neutral, balanced stance, relaxed and deadly. "Well, the police _would_ be here in the next six minutes, if I hadn't set off two decoy alarms in separate parts of the city prior to my engagement here. So I beg to differ… I have all the time in the world."

The guard looked stunned at the sheer completeness of the assassin's foresight, but shook it off after a moment. "You'll pay for this," he gritted his teeth in a snarl and moved forward to engage his enemy.

"On the contrary," Slade quipped, "I'm going to get _paid_ for this."

It was a patterned movement, a circling movement meant to herd, which Slade allowed to proceed for the time being. The guard shot out a fist in an experimental punch, testing the waters; Slade dodged with ease, and the movement changed.

The second punch grazed his head, making an awful _crack_ing sound as it bounced off the side of his mask, though no harm was done. Slade was almost impressed, save for the sole fact that he had _allowed _it to happen, and the guard would not come so close again.

Noting that another minute had passed with their idle chit-chat, and more was being wasted in this mockery of a fair fight, Slade decided to finish the scuffle quickly. There would be fights for his amusement another day.

With a swift movement, Slade snuck a heavy fist through the other man's guard and sent him sprawling to the ground, unconscious.

Slade allowed himself a second to reflect on how pitifully easy it had been. Most boxers of this size could stand _at least_ three hits.

Then, he was off, through the hall and up to the penthouse suite door.

With no further ado, Slade kicked the door in and headed straight to the bedroom closet. On his way there, he took careful note of the tiny winking light of the security alarm (signifying it had been secretly tripped), and of the mess (half a Chinese dinner still in its lantern-shaped boxes) that had been abandoned on the coffee table, next to a briefcase. The enormous plasma television was still on and showing a recording of last night's home basketball game.

Slade imagined that, at one point, there had also been a gun atop that briefcase, and silverware in those boxes. Bullets wouldn't be able to penetrate his costume, but he'd need to be wary of knives.

"Come out, come out, where ever you are," he called, in a slow lilt.

The bedroom was dim, the only light coming in from a sliver in the curtains. There were two windows of equal size, from which one could procure a lovely view of the street. The king-size bed was positioned between said windows, and was draped in expensive sheets.

He heard a light shuffle, coming from within the closet. From behind him, there was a hiss. Slade glanced at a grey tabby cat sitting atop the bedroom vanity, nestled among a mass of make-up jars and an obligatory wedding picture; it growled at him, the fur on its back standing on end. Slade took it as a compliment.

Ignoring the cat, he moved into the closet, flipping on the light. It was a long walk-in, three-fourths of which was filled with women's dresses and a long line of designer heels. The other fourth contained a number of men's dress suits and a few more casual pieces. Slade figured D'Amico thought of his lady as more of a trophy wife, providing eye-candy for his legion of mafia scumbags while he bought her silence with snappy shoes.

For a moment, Slade wondered who would take over once D'Amico was dead. He imagined there would be a power struggle among the higher-ups, which would in turn cripple the gang itself. Then again… No, thinking of consequences was not what he was being paid for. He was being paid to make a show. Slade moved to the back wall of the closet, tapping experimentally. It sounded hollow. Feeling along that same wall, he found a keypad hidden behind a camouflaged panel.

He'd had to do some particularly callous things to the panic room's creator in order to get the code, but got it he had. Slade picked a piece of paper from one of the pouches on his belt and punched in the recorded number. The door bleeped and began to swing open.

"Peek-a-boo," Slade's sing-song echoed eerily, "_I see you_."

There was indeed a man within the small, secret room, huddled in a corner, pressing himself against the wall in a futile attempt to blend in, clutching a golf club. Upon seeing the masked Slade, D'Amico swung, cracking the renowned Terminator in the face with his five-iron.

Slade stumbled back, but recovered faster than D'Amico could swing again. He caught the club before it connected, and twisted it out of the mafioso's grip. He then grabbed D'Amico by the back of his shirt and slammed him into the door frame, before dragging him out of the twenty foot closet and to one of the bedroom windows.

Slade picked up D'Amico by the collar and looked at him seriously. "Do you know who I am?"

"_S-son ovva b_-"

"No, that's wrong," Slade corrected him. "I am Deathstroke. I am the Terminator, and you," he forced D'Amico up against the window so hard, the glass cracked. "You are an instigator," he pulled the crime lord back, before slamming him back again, spreading the crack to the top of the window. "You are a drug dealer and a murderer," Slade pulled D'Amico back, and with a last push, forced the man through the window, glass exploding outwards and showering the street far below, alerting passers-by. "But today… today, you will be nothing more than a _statistic_. What do you have to say for yourself?"

D'Amico, torn, bloody and not nearly unconscious enough to bear it, grasped weakly at Slade's massive hands, his legs kicking in vain. "P-please," he moaned, the tears in his voice prominent. "_Please_! I- I gotta family, man-! Please, let me go-!"

Slade paused, invisible eyebrows rising. "Interesting choice of words," he said, and released the man's shirt. Nine stories up, it would be a _miracle_ if he lived. At the very least, his body in the street would cause a traffic jam, and he'd bleed out before help could get there in time. The police, naturally, would cover it all up, and the tabloids would make the whole event a circus. All in all, a job well done (if he dared say so himself).

For now, Slade turned to go. It wouldn't do to be seen.

He took his leave out of the penthouse and out the fire escape in the stairwell, where he slipped up the nearest building ladder and onto the roof.

A few buildings along his getaway route, Slade stopped abruptly. Looking up, he saw the most incredible thing take place overhead. The light was piercing; a bright green streak that split the night sky through the grey-white clouds. It hit the Earth with ground-shaking impact, throwing up a billowing cloud of dust into the frosty night air, tinted by eerie, emerald light.

Slade could only stare, stunned by that magnificent display. His eye followed the trail, up, up, up far into the sky, into the stratosphere. Was it an exceptionally small meteor? If that was indeed what it was, then what could explain the green glow?

With excitement in his eye, Slade Wilson surged forward, vaulting over roofs, then down an awning to the ground, where he made his way to the crash site.

The crater he found was at least eight feet deep, and double that across. He took a few cautious steps forward, pulling his metal staff from his belt and holding it at ready, before he strode close enough to peer in.

He barely dodged when something his size leapt out at him, swinging its shining metal arms at his head, furiously screeching words he'd never heard before. It pivoted, gathering momentum for a second swing, and a third, each one aimed for his head. He barely saw its face, concentrating on keeping from getting caught in what would no doubt be a deadly blow.

He leapt far back from it, taking in his enemy; it looked to be a tall girl with an orange-yellow face, framed by a silver, crown-like headpiece. Long, tangled red hair fluttered out behind her as she charged forward at him, her voice cracking in a wild war-call, her eyes glowing fiercely with the green energy he'd seen before. Slade noted that she seemed to be thrown off-balance by the metal on her arms, as though they had been designed for that purpose. Was she a prisoner of some sort?

Slade held onto that thought as he dodged a vertical swing that shattered concrete, and with a quick flick of the wrist, struck her on the back of the head with his staff. She screamed, infuriated, tearing her unwieldy shackles from the ground and turning ferociously on him, growling again in words he could not identify.

During that moment she took to reorient herself, Slade made another mental note: subject possesses a hardy physiology. He took simultaneous note of her clothes. They were – or had been, at one point before today's crash-landing, clean. They fit her like traveling clothes, loose in the places that didn't matter, but tailored at the joints not to catch. They were made for fighting, as he could see by the bits of metal. No… the metal pads at her shoulders were decorative, as was the crown on her head. Those would do nothing to protect her from fight damage. Slade would certainly know: his own costume was designed in much the same way.

She charged head-first towards him, like a bull, and he made ready to dodge -- but she spun at the last moment, past him, before turning sharply and catching him in the back with the broad side of her metal shackles, knocking him to the ground. Slade rolled to his feet with a hiss of pain, a smile glimmering in his eye.

"That was quite good," he told her, rising to his feet and lightly dusting off an arm. "Believe me when I say it won't happen again."

The girl snarled at him, watching him with eyes that glowed so brightly, they cast the area around them with a gentle green glamour. Slade thought it all very beautiful. Her movement, especially: like a highly intelligent animal caught in a trap.

The girl came at him, with an upwards swing, which Slade dodged by taking his running momentum a few yards up the side of a building, which he then used to kick off a jump that would take him over the alien girl's head. He landed deftly, and then leapt to the side as the girl brought her sledgehammer swing crashing down in the place where he had once been. With another quick movement, he rapped her hard at the base of her spine with the butt of his staff.

She did not seem terribly affected by this one, either, as she let out another growl and turned to face him, as before. Slade pursed his lips in thought. "My, aren't you resilient," he murmured. It appeared as though she preferred direct attacks; there was no subtlety at all in her fighting style.

She swept around towards him like a tiger. Slade dropped to the ground and swept her feet out from under her. She hit the ground with a yelp (an angry one), and twisted, bringing her heavy metal arms around to swipe back at him, which Slade made an impressive-looking back-flip to avoid. He snapped the staff down on the crown of her head.

She bared her teeth in another snarl, almost frothing, barking a few harsh words. Slade figured she'd finally come to the realization that he was toying with her. She began to stalk towards him, and this time he didn't move. Oh, he could _certainly_ beat her, and easily at that, but instead he decided on a different and _better_ course of action.

"I'd like to propose a truce," he said, his voice patient and authoritative, like a dignified general. He pointed at the large cylinders of metal that sheathed her forearms. "Those seem to be hindering you. Would you like me to remove them?"

For a moment, her eyes flicked down, to regard her shackles, and then back up at his masked face. She spat, and charged forward with a yell. Using his staff, Slade vaulted over her head, landing with a roll far enough behind her to avoid her turning swing altogether.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked, in an amused voice. "I think you'd do a much better job of catching me without them."

Slade wondered if he'd struck a nerve, as she seemed to bristle, sputtering and vociferating what Slade imagined were harsh words about his mother.

"Forgive me, but I don't know what that means," Slade reminded her. He kept a wary, ready stance, one hand out for balance, eyeing her with curiosity. She did not know English, that was clear, but could she tell what he meant by the tone of his voice? "I want to _help_ you," he told her, in the most sincere voice he could summon, as he gestured again to the shackles.

This time, the girl seemed to pause, eyes narrowed and analyzing. She snorted, after a moment of thought, and growled something harsh.

Slade relaxed his stance, spreading his hands as he carefully set down his staff, and stepped back away from it.

She stared hard at him, and issued a command.

Slade considered for a moment what she could have said, and then noted she _must_ have meant his mask. After all, how can one trust a person whose face they cannot see? Clever girl, he thought. And well, what harm could it do? She lacked the social dexterity to use it against him, and her intentions here were pretty much transparent. She didn't care about who he was to _Earth_; she just wanted to know who he was _going_ to be _to her_. After all, the eyes are the window to the soul, he mused.

Slade raised a hand to his face, and quietly removed the plate, pulling back the fabric with practiced, careful movements.

He looked much older than he moved, his face marred by laugh lines, his hair cut short and dignified, like a businessman, a bit matted from the costume; he had a bit of nicely-trimmed white beard around his chin that gave him a definite air of respectability. A white eye-patch covered his dead right eye, though the other was quite alive, as blue in color as the sky in spring, off-set by the snow white of his hair. She seemed a bit surprised at his appearance, perhaps caught off-guard by his apparent age. He smiled some, to put her at ease, a charming look that suited his businesslike demeanor.

"I just want to help you," he said, the smile reflecting in his blue eye.

She looked to be at a loss for words, blinking somewhat bewilderedly. She didn't move when he stepped towards her, instead pursing her lips, contemplating his truthfulness. He supposed she must have been rather desperate as, after a moment, she held up her arms with an expectant look. He thought he saw a glimmer of excitement in her eyes, though he couldn't really tell past the glow. He wasn't entirely sure if she even had pupils.

He carefully placed his hands on the shackles (he wouldn't put it past her to attempt to knock him out then and there), feeling their cold through his gloves, and peered at their surface, looking for a keyhole. After a moment of seeing nothing, he paused to remove his gloves, and then resumed, this time feeling for anything that might constitute a way to unlock it.

She watched him intently, watched how delicately he ran fingers over the contraption that trapped her, seeking her freedom; she watched his face, how firm and serious he looked, as though he sought his own freedom.

She looked up suddenly at the sound of sirens. Slade, too, turned for a moment, before re-establishing eye contact. "Follow me," he told her, pulling lightly on her shackles. She blinked, finding herself nodding.

Picking up his staff and after snapping on his mask, Slade headed for the nearest alley, from which he scaled the nearest wall onto the nearest roof. Halfway up, he remembered that the girl wouldn't be able to follow, and reluctantly began to descend again--

She passed him, _flying_, shooting straight into the air and landing somewhat ungracefully, her arms severely weighed down.

The surprise must have manifested in his bearing, because she smiled (not a little victoriously) down at him as he quickly finished his climb. He smiled back at her, an unseen gesture that reflected in his eye. But_ he_ smiled because the night had just gotten _a lot_ more interesting.

He glanced back as a cop car roared onto the scene (one because, well, the rest had a lot of other things to attend to). They were rushing to block off the area surrounding the crater, and moving in to see what had made it. They wouldn't find it, of course, because Slade had it right here. They were hiding in plain sight. He turned a hidden smirk to her.

"Come with me to my home," he requested, genially, with a well-placed touch to the cold metal. "We'll get these off of you and find you someplace to rest, a bit of food… perhaps a way _home_. Would you like that?" he asked, in an _oh-so_ tempting voice.

She seemed to consider his soothing voice for a moment, before she let out a growl, presenting her shackled forearms with more fervor than before.

"You want them off _now_, do you?" Slade asked, his blue eye laughing. "Very well, my dear. You drive a hard bargain," he told her, his voice very carefully inoffensive. He placed a hand on the cool metal, and examined it again. "I don't see any keyholes on this," he murmured. "Here, lift it," he said putting pressure on the underside of the contraption. Automatically, the girl lifted her arms (he could see her shoulders strain when she did -- she was obviously _very_ strong) and Slade glanced beneath it. She peered at him grimly from between her arms. He noted her eyes no longer glowed; she did, in fact, have irises and pupils. Green sclera, green irises, he noted. Intriguing.

After a moment of examination, he still could find nothing. "Perhaps the lock is electrical," he theorized, mostly to himself. The alien girl watched his every move with quiet eyes, drinking in the nuances of his hands and voice. "Or perhaps this is only the first step," he proposed. After a moment, he looked directly at her. "Tell me, you witnessed this thing's assembly," he rapped the metal cylinder with a knuckle, "This is a casing. The lock is underneath?"

She stared at him, her attention undivided. He rather liked her eyes; they masked a vast, humanlike intelligence, while at the same time catlike and wild. She spoke then, in words he did not understand, but her eyes darted to the shackles' rim.

"Then we ought to remove the cover," he suggested, marking his initial theory as true for now. "I have some tools in my workshop. We'll need to go there."

Her eyes narrowed at him, and she growled in her harsh language, brandishing her shackles like a too-heavy weapon. She looked _very_ desperate to be free of them, he noted, correcting his previous assumption. There must be someone after her.

"It won't take long," he comforted, setting a careful hand on the metal casing and easing it down. "I promise."

Her eyes betrayed mixed feelings about his offer, something which he noted immediately and filed away for later. He made the gesture for her to follow, and he turned and began heading towards the other side of the building's rooftop. Without looking back, he took a running start and pole-vaulted from this roof to the next, and continued thusly until the buildings were too high to crest.

He stopped then, and rustled a hand around in a pocket on his belt, from which he extracted a small cell-phone. He dialed a memorized number, and placed it to his mask-covered ear. He could hear steps behind him, and did not need to turn to know that the alien girl had indeed followed him. Build up enough mystery and enough hope, and _anyone_ will follow. It was only natural, and this one… well, this one had no sense of subterfuge.

It was a problem that could be _fixed_, given the right circumstances…

A trim, pleasant voice answered, to which Slade immediately responded, in a cool voice with an edge of command, "Wintergreen, my friend; I'm going to need you to bring around the car. I've got a guest with a rather… _intriguing_… problem. Time is of the essence."

"Of course," was the reply. Slade then relayed his location, and the wheels of destiny were set in motion. He smiled as he snapped the phone shut and slipped it back into his belt, as the pieces began gathering to fall into place.

Oh, this would be an interesting night _indeed_.

--

Wintergreen pulled around the corner of the building in an unmarked, black luxury car. Slade made use of the shadows, slipping into the car almost unnoticed, but the girl was attracting attention, clambering around like a chained rhinoceros, grunting and complaining at the passage of time. He coaxed her into the car with him with a very straightforward gesture, hardly taking notice of her impatience. She responded with a frown and a huff and, after a sideways glance at the gaping passers-by, calmly climbed in to join him. The car creaked and tipped gently to one side, the weight of the shackles clearly more than Slade had anticipated.

She muttered something else, as she sat, staring out the window with fascination, watching the neon lights zip past as Wintergreen took them away from the city. She was quite tall, Slade noted, her head nearly brushing the felt-covered ceiling, though the tips of her metal crown threatened to poke and tear holes in it.

Slade regarded the back of her head coolly, waiting. She continued to murmur, commenting, perhaps, on the landscape and its differences to wherever it was that she was from. She kept glancing at the sky, he noticed, as though she were searching for something. He supposed she was keeping watch for whatever might come looking for her. She was tense and, Slade noted, she had not relaxed a single iota of muscle since he'd met her.

Well, he conceded rationally, she had every right in the world (and a multitude of others, he guessed) to be paranoid.

"We'll be there soon," he said soothingly. Her head jerked to focus on him, eyes wide and furious, her jaw set in a grimace. He saw the emotions clashing there, and was not at all surprised when she snarled a question at him, which he presumed to mean something along the lines of _"why are you being so nice_._"_

He flashed a charming smile at her, though he was quite aware she couldn't see it, and answered, quite warmly, "My dear, I'm only trying to _help_. I think if you'd give me the chance, we could be very good friends. I think you're a _lovely_ specimen, and I'd rather like to get to know you better."

He saw a flutter of flattery cross her face, which disappeared almost as immediately as it appeared, replaced by a gruff frown. She huffed again, turning up her nose and looking away from him.

Ah, so _that_ was how it was to be, Slade thought amusedly. The sly, one-sided, victorious smile never really left his face as they finished their car ride in silence.

When they arrived, she stepped out of the car with a moderately sober expression. She didn't seem too terribly impressed with his home, which by all accounts was a veritable _mansion_ of a place (and indeed was a place Slade had specially designed to suit his needs -- he had _several_, actually, but this one was by far the most _especial_ for one reason in particular).

She must have come from a rather spectacular place, Slade mused.

The driver didn't leave the car, for which Slade would thank him later. For now, he ushered the alien girl into his home, into a rather Gothic atrium with a very tall ceiling, through which light majestically streamed, illuminating the room with beautiful gold glow that reflected off the marble columns… or it _would_ have, if it had been light outside. At the moment, it just seemed very, very dark, as though the ceiling stretched into the black night.

He led her past the sweeping staircase and into a long hallway that would lead to his study. There were no pictures on the walls of his home, save for some small and intricately-detailed portraits by Renaissance men with Dutch names, for which he _might_ have shelled out quite _a lot_ of money if the paintings had not been on five-finger discount at the Jump City Museum of Art.

The study itself was as large as a library -- which, in point of fact, it was. The walls were covered in shelves (when it was not covered by windows), which in turn were filled with countless books, some which were antique, some which were priceless; some which were useful, and some which were merely decorative. He flipped a number of switches by the door, which flooded the library with light from fancy, Baroque style wall sconces; and it was here that the alien girl actually seemed awed.

Well, thought Slade, at least she has good taste.

He directed her to an equally overly fancy chair, which she sat on rather heavily, arms dangling between her knees, the shackles dragging.

"Wait right here, my dear," he told her, before smoothly moving to an intricately carved chest sitting beneath a window. The girl gazed around at all the books, marveling at their numbers, and perhaps at the design of the room, as well.

Slade returned to take her arm (she glared at him when he did), and lead her towards a bookcase which had opened to reveal a stone and wood-paneled passageway. He felt for a switch on the newly exposed wall, which triggered another line of wall sconces to alight and guide their way.

The shelf closed behind them, once they had gone a few yards, and the secret hall led out into a large, open room. The first thing one saw when they entered this room was the enormous grandfather clock sitting at the other end of the room, watching over everything like an old ancestor (and tut-tutting at everything much like one, as well).

He indicated her to sit in a much less decorative metal chair at the end of one of the many large metal worktables, and strode over to a large steel storing cabinet, from which he extracted a cutting torch, a welder's mask, and a pair of black-tinted welder's goggles.

He offered her the goggles, holding up the mask to his own (albeit masked) face in demonstration. "You _might_ need these, though considering you entered Earth's atmosphere without them, I may be incorrect."

She looked at him like he was stupid. He'd expected it, of course. "As you wish," he added. "I'll have you out in a little while."

He had her set her arms at an angle to the corner edge of the table, so that the end piece of her metal shackles stuck out the other side. He replaced his costume mask with the welder's mask and fired up the torch. The girl's eyes widened in fascination at the sight of blue flame (and remained uninjured throughout the duration -- quite the hardy being _indeed_). The casing proved to be made of a much harder material than he'd expected. He managed, after a great deal of work, to carve a shallow cut down the center. The torch would not heat up any more, and this made a full cut into this unidentified metal composite impossible.

He removed his welder's mask and stared down at his work with such intensity that the girl attempted to give him a piece of… wisdom, perhaps. Her voice was the most sympathetic he'd heard out of her all night.

She stood afterward, and calmly walked to a bare corner of the room. Slade turned his attention to her after a moment, eyebrow raised at--

He stood abruptly when she began beating the shackles against the concrete floor with a primal scream. And then she turned it on the wall, and then on a table (which would hereafter never be the same again), and then back to the floor until it cracked and the casing clanged from her still-bound arms, torn at the center where he'd tried to make the cut. What was left of her bindings was white metal that bound her forearms together. Right at the center, there was a small hole, to which a key surely went.

Her hands, however, were free. She unclenched her fists, stretching her fingers and bending her wrists as far as the shackles would allow.

"Now, _that_," Slade said calmly, with a sly smile, "is something of which I can surely be of assistance."

He reached for his belt, where he always kept his lock-pick set handy, extracted a pick and a tension wrench, and made short work of the remaining piece of her shackles. The white metal hit the ground with a heavy sound, and Slade's mind briefly wandered over the countless possibilities these nigh-indestructible metals presented.

The girl turned to regard Slade with victorious eyes, working her hands with growing excitement. He noted that she still wore what looked to be metal forearm armor, perhaps also decorative. Then he noticed the look in her eyes had grown sly. She lunged at him, forcing him back over a table, and he only _barely_ managed to deflect what might have been a thank-you kiss. She glared at him over his gloved hand, which he'd set firmly between her mouth and his.

"Now, now, my dear," he said, a highly amused twinkle in his blue eye, "On our planet, a lady doesn't kiss on the first date." Her eyes narrowed at the humor in his voice, and she grabbed his wrist in one hand, threading the other around to grab the back of his head. "Or maybe I'm just _old-fashioned_," Slade said with a laugh, as he used his feet to throw the girl off of him, before twisting off the other side of the table and onto his feet again.

She had landed on the worktable across from his, leaving a noticeable dent in the surface. She rose slowly, however, with a strange smile spreading across her face.

Oh my, thought Slade. She had a trump card all along.

As she raised her hands, Slade moved first; he kicked over the table, diving behind it just as she let loose a barrage of glowing green bolts of energy. He crawled quickly behind the length of table as energy exploded above and behind him, cursing himself for leaving his staff back in the study. An unfortunate miscalculation he would not repeat. For now, however, he'd have to make do.

He reached for a hammer sitting at the top of a toolbox, and suddenly paused.

He realized she'd stopped shooting.

She also, he noted, had ceased breathing.

Slade sat up, looking about.

She was gone.

The horrific crunch of old wood splintering confirmed that she'd gone back to the study. Slade cursed and leapt over the table to follow.

He came to a halt in the shadows of the broken bookshelf-door, peering out into the study… he saw the girl standing at the window, one long, armored arm holding the heavy curtain to one side. His staff leaned on the old wood desk several feet behind her. It was possible to get it before she noticed him, but with the new variable of energy bolts added to the equation, Slade wasn't entirely sure of how to handle her _after_ he'd retrieved his staff.

_Yet_.

At any rate, a direct assault would not be the wisest tactic: her sheer brute strength would see to it that any such action would fail miserably.

Similarly, he'd prefer the library stay in one piece. She'd already wrecked one set of shelving (and a few tables of sturdier material), so he could only _imagine_ the amount of damage she could do to the rest of it if given sufficient motivation.

She looked distracted, though Slade knew better than to take that for granted. He slipped out from the shadows, taking careful, quiet steps which brought him quickly to the desk, where he took his staff in hand. She hadn't turned to acknowledge him. He made a bit more noise with his next few steps, bringing himself closer to her, testing her mood.

Her eyes never left the thing in the distance. Slade gazed over her shoulder; she was nearly as tall as he was, and he briefly wondered how old she was. Then, his eye settled on a massive, metallic form in the sky.

"I see we have visitors," said Slade, his voice a mix of amusement and surprise. The enormous ship had overtaken the skyline, giant and gold and glowing. His eye fell to the red-haired alien girl, who finally turned to look at him, with a strange expression that Slade might have considered fearful, if not for the snapping anger in her eyes.

She whispered something to him, in a bitter, cracking voice.

He looked into her emerald eyes, his face grim.

She repeated the words.

Slade considered them, for a moment, as his eye flicked back to the ship coming in over the bay. "We will deal with this."

Her expression turned bewildered. She did not have to understand his language; his bearing said it all. He had set his shoulders, parallel to his feet, hands clasped behind his back; a military stance if ever she had seen one. His blue eye was calculating and icy, and she could not help the tingle that ran up her spine.

The girl let out a breath, moving a hand to his shoulder, leaning into him, her head slowly, gracefully, almost closing the distance between their lips.

Well, thought Slade. If you really do _insist_…

The sound of glass shattering on the hardwood floor made the two pause, not quite having sealed the gap. The voice that followed was nothing short of complete and utter fury. "_What the Hell, Slade?!_"

Slade closed his eye, letting out a small and irritated sigh. Terra, he berated mentally, you have the _strangest_ timing.

* * *

**A/N:** I bet you _totally expected_ Terra to be thrown into the mix. Well, you were right. Good job. Tune in next chapter, where our anti-heroes will fix all their problems by blowing things up!

Also, first person to imply that I had Slade quote Ledger!Joker needs to _shut the hell up_. I am quoting the _Deathstroke comic book_, and this whole fic was written _before_ the movie was even released. D:


	2. It's the Hard Knock Life

**A/N:** So maybe no one saw Terra coming after all. Well, she's here to stay. Brace yourselves, because the more I write, the _weirder_ it gets. I adore Terra as a character, and I find Slade/Terra and its implications _absolutely fascinating_, but I get the feeling that writing it this way makes me some kind of horrible bastard. _Hmmm_.

... Enjoy!

**Disclaimer?:** I do not claim to own Teen Titans, Oliver Twist, or Annie the Musical, and I make no profit off of this abomination of literature.

**Summary?:** Starfire of Tamaran, newly arrived on Earth, must face the tribulations of finding one's place in a strange world, with Slade's den of thieves as her only guide.

**Note:** Terra's not a pansy, either. She literally gets a full page of ass-kicking all to herself, _despite hindering circumstances_. Also: hooray friendship!

Don't forget: "Koriand'r" is Starfire's canon real name.

* * *

**A Day Away**

By: Griffinmon

**Chapter Two: It's the Hard-Knock Life**

_Don't it feel like the wind is always howl'n?  
__Don't it seem like there's never any light!__  
Once a day, don't you wanna throw the towel in?  
It's easier than puttin' up a fight._

-- Annie

"_Jesus_, Slade! I get up to get a glass of water, and you're already all over some other girl?!" Terra screamed, stepping through the broken glass with bare feet and stalking straight to him and said _other _girl. Her blue eyes were practically sparking embers, so furious she glowered, as though she intended to burn holes into his face. He imagined the metaphor was not far off from truth.

Slade also momentarily wondered how she'd managed _not_ to hear all the commotion of fighting and things breaking, and then promptly reminded himself that Terra tended to be one of those mythical _heavy sleepers_. She slept through everything, explosions generally included.

He could see the bloody smears of footprints she'd left in her wake and fought back a wince. That was a _real_ _Persian carpet_ she was walking on. One got those _from Persia_ which, if one had checked a map recently, one would realize _no longer existed_.

Terra shoved him roughly (he allowed it, every so often, as one must sometimes let the baby have its bottle). She was a great deal smaller than he, however, so her physical violence wasn't exactly something to tremble over. At the moment, she looked _quite_ small, dwarfed by the oversized white bathrobe hanging open over her thin frame. Beneath that, she wore an oversized sports jersey and a pair of boxer shorts. Her blonde hair was mussed and tangled, looking as though she had just rolled out of bed. Considering how late it was, Slade realized that it must have been time for her ritual one-AM glass of water.

Terra turned her wrath onto the alien girl. "And _you_!" she hollered, "_I don't even know_ _who you are_,but you got _no right_ to come in and throw yourself like a _heifer_ at _my_—" She positioned herself for another tantrum-fueled shove, but the girl grabbed her by the wrists and carried through with the momentum, flipping the blonde flat onto her back.

Terra stared at the ceiling in horrified (angry) surprise.

The red-haired alien leaned over, looking curiously into Terra's face. She said something, in a voice that carried a sharp edge - a warning, or a piece of wisdom. Slade didn't really care at the moment. The night had just gotten somewhat longer than he would have wanted.

"_What did you call me_…?" she hissed, fuming and incredulous at having been winded keeping her frozen in place as she _stared_ at the other girl, no doubt attempting to burn holes in her, as well.

"Terra," Slade said after a short but horribly awkward stretch of silence, "Regardless of what you think you saw, I assure you my intentions were honorable."

"Honorable? _Honorable_?! You sunnova_bitch_, Slade! You _lied_ to me!" Terra howled, when she could breathe properly again. "What, am I not good 'nuff for you anymore? You gotta _replace_ me? You said I was the only one! You lied! You're a _liar_!" Terra, by this time, had dissolved into the second stage of her temper tantrums: angry tears. "I'm getting better, you _saw_ it! I'll be the best Goddamn earthmover you ever saw, I swear! I _promise_! You can't replace me, I'm not even done!"

"My dear, Terra," Slade sighed, offering her a hand up. She refused it, naturally, but he kept it firmly in place. She would come around in a moment. "Terra, I'm not _replacing_ you. This young woman is someone I found today and, like you, she appears to have a great deal of potential."

"Found," Terra laughed, in a distorted, tearful, hiccupping fashion. She was quickly slipping into the _angry, accusatory tears_ stage. "You _found_ her. Like'a _dog_, huh, Slade? Like how you found me? What, are we just dogs to you? Puppies you can train for show?"

"You're being irrational," he answered, calmly. It was the tone he used when he meant _yes, but_. "Regardless, it is up to _her_ whether she will remain with us or not. The offer has been made, and it would be most uncharitable to take it back now."

The girl, meanwhile, was watching their exchange with morbid fascination. Terra looked at her with disgust. "What, she want _popcorn_?"

"Terra," Slade warned, in a vaguely paternal tone.

The blonde stared up at him, her face twisting, flipping between variations of anger and grief, slowly dipping into the final stage: pleading tears. It was the shortest and easiest of stages to deal with. Her light blue eyes were as big as saucers and overflowing. "…S-so you're not getting rid of me?"

"No," Slade said, very firmly.

"…Do I have to give up my room?"

"No," Slade repeated, slightly less firm and slightly more exasperated.

After a moment, Terra swallowed the tearful lump in her throat, and took Slade's proffered hand. She sat up, and wiped her eyes with the extra-long sleeve of her bathrobe, half-glaring up at the alien as she did. The alien glared back.

"Ow!" Terra yelped, after realizing the soles of her feet were bleeding. "Jeez, when'd this--?"

"While you were yelling," Slade reminded her testily. Terra didn't always stop to think, and that was the infinite source of a number of unfortunate habits. "Stay put."

As Slade headed to the desk to retrieve the first-aid kit (one of the many scattered about the house), Terra shot another glare at the alien, as though to say _this is your fault_. The girl returned the look, puffing out her chest with a growl, which made Terra flinch almost visibly. "Jeez… What's up with her, Slade?"

"She is from outer space," he answered simply, as though it answered everything. Which it _should_ have, but Terra was Terra.

"Say _what_?"

"Space," he repeated patiently. "She crashed downtown, where I found her. And, I do believe her original captors are hovering over our fair city at this very moment."

Terra made a half-snort, half-laughing sound, as she stared at the bottom of her feet, mesmerized by the blood soaking into the carpet, only half-listening. "So?" The girl seemed equally as fascinated with the wounds, and sat in front of Terra, watching carefully.

"Well, Terra, I imagine they'll _destroy_ the city, if they don't get her back."

The blonde winced, clenching her teeth, as she extracted a large piece of glass from her foot with her fingers. "Ah _jeez_… What's it gotta do with me—_chsss-!!_" she sucked air in between her teeth in surprise and pain, accompanied by a shout that Terra forcefully stifled in her throat when the alien girl pulled out a shard as well. "Don't do that, _you crazy_ _sonnuvva_--!!"

"_Terra_," Slade snapped, interrupting the young blonde.

"She's messin' with my injuries!" Terra snapped back, hands gripping tightly to her ankles, glowering at the confused alien.

"Terra, are you even listening?" Slade asked coolly, as he kneeled next to his protégé, holding a small white box in his hands. "Aliens are going to blow up the city," he stated, in a perfectly blunt way he was sure she would understand.

"Oh," Terra said, blankly, closing one eye in a wince as he reached for her left foot. "That's bad, right?"

"It is bad when _I'm_ not the one who's doing it," he continued evenly. "There is something to be said about the bounds of territory. This city is _mine_, and _no one_ but me will see to its ruin."

"Oh," Terra said, before hissing loudly, both eyes clenched shut, digging her nails into the carpet as Slade poured a cold liquid across her sole; she could hear it fizzing even though the echoing scream she imagined in her head. The alien seemed rather impressed with the stoicism of it all.

"Terra," Slade commanded, "Focus."

The blonde bit her lip, holding her breath, her face turning red with the intensity of her concentration. The alien blinked thoughtfully.

But it was Slade who smiled victoriously while small shards of glass dropped with light _tink_s into the silver ashtray he held beneath Terra's elevated foot. Her fine-control was getting _so_ much better these days. One daresay he was _proud_ of her progress.

Terra let out her held breath in a puff, beads of sweat trailing down her face, eyes reddened by withheld tears. Slade poured another stream of hydrogen peroxide across her foot, dabbed at the cuts with a clean cloth, then proceeded to wrap it in fresh gauze.

"I do hope you've learned something from this, Terra," Slade said easily.

"Um," Terra grumbled incoherently as he lifted her other foot and prepped it the same way he had the first. "_Ngh_—uh, w-watch your step?"

Slade paused, his blue eye suddenly focused severely on her. "Do you think this is _funny_, child?"

"No, sir-!" Terra barked, tugging her leg back, which Slade gripped a little too firmly. He let her go, and she stared at him with apologetic eyes. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll take care of this, sir."

Slade set down the kit and got to his feet. "Good. Then I'll see you in ten minutes at the front door?" It wasn't a question. It very rarely was.

Terra shot him an incredulous look, but the ice in his stare told her it would be best not to argue. "Yes, sir," she said instead.

He walked out of the room without another word. There was a moment of strange silence as Terra stared at the floor in front of her. The red-haired girl cocked her head to the side questioningly, breathing a soft few words, as though to ask, "_Are you alright?_"

Terra grimaced, and turned a glare to the girl. "Buzz off, pet. You got me in'na 'nuff trouble as it is." She then crossed her legs, with the still uncared-for foot elevated on one knee, and slid the ashtray under it.

Terra seemed surprised when the girl grabbed the peroxide bottle and offered it to her. Terra shoved it away with a curse. "Back _off_, okay? I can do this _myself_. I've done it before, an' it's no big deal."

The alien girl sniffed disdainfully, with a snubbing murmur.

Terra ignored her, bringing a hand close to the sole of her foot, hovering over the injuries as she clenched her teeth and focused again. To the alien's surprise, the girl's eyes glowed brightly yellow, and the glass shards slid out smoothly from her cuts and dropped into the silver ashtray. Then with a gasp, the glow was gone and Terra gripped her ankle fervently, her breathing jerky and quick.

The alien took the opportunity to quickly pour peroxide over it, before she was swatted away by a shaking Terra. "_I said back off!_"

Tying off the gauze, Terra attempted to stand, which rewarded her with shooting pain and a barely-restrained cry. The alien hurriedly snuck an arm under Terra's shoulders, hoisting her up so that her feet were no longer touching the ground. Terra squirmed in her grip, sputtering a number of creative curses as the alien calmly carried her out of the study and safely out of range of the broken glass.

Terra stopped struggling immediately when she realized that the girl's kung-fu grip was nothing to toy with. She allowed herself to be carried down the hall, with no real sense of direction. They came out in the atrium, near the front door, and Terra nudged the alien, pointing up the stairs around the corner. "Hey. Hey, goldie. Since we're doin' the chauffer thing, head up that way. I need'a get my stuff."

With a blink, the alien redirected herself, floating up the stairs and down another hall. Terra laughed, amused by the helpful obedience, then pointed her into the first room on the right, where she hopped to the ground, stumbled, and almost collapsed, but ultimately stayed on her feet with another life lesson burned deep into her brain. She grabbed up a number of things from the floor and limped awkwardly into her private bathroom to change.

The alien amused herself by looking around at the interesting trinkets strewn across the earthmover's quarters. There was colored sand poured in beautiful patterns in strangely shaped glass bottles, with colorful, smooth stones lying on every surface, and rocks. _Normal_ rocks, sitting in corners. There was, however, a pile of round rocks on a desk that had been split in half, exposing the strange and beautiful configuration of crystal within. On her walls were stunning pictures of plains, sand dunes and large, red rock outcrops. The alien examined a strange green plant sitting in the window, that had large, thick, flat leaves and little pin-like thorns sticking out of it, which looked like they might hurt if one were to touch them; there was a single pink flower blooming at one of its tips. There were clothes all over the floor, and a number of pieces that the alien had never seen before. She picked them up one by one and tried to determine their purpose.

Terra appeared moments later, dressed entirely in black and gunmetal grey and wearing heavy-duty boots, topped off with a blue pair of sports goggles, to find the alien intently examining a rather embarrassing garment. The alien was tugging at the straps of a white sports bra, attempting to use it as a slingshot to fire geodes across the room.

Terra snatched it from her, throwing it fiercely into the closet and slamming the door. "No!" she said, loudly, like an owner to a dog. "Bad alien! _No_ mess with Terra's underwear! Bad!"

The girl just stared, uncomprehending of the problem.

With a groan of frustration, Terra threw her arms into the air. "Forget it! Just _don't touch_ anything _else_. Now, c'mon."

Slade was waiting at the front door, his mask in its rightful place, with his hands clasped behind his back. There was a sword hooked to his belt, and a small canvas bag hanging by his side from a strap across his chest.

The alien had insisted on carrying Terra back down the stairs, at the sight of which Slade cocked an eyebrow. "Friends already?"

Terra laughed. "Friends? Who, me an' her? _Tch_, what gave you _that_ idea?"

Slade made no motion, wisely choosing not to comment. "I see," he said, before he turned and opened the door. "There is a pod docked on the bay island; they're dispatching units from it. Terra, you will attack the pod from the side, while your new friend and I will head to the mother-ship."

"Wait, _bay island_?" The blonde asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's out in the open. Won't they see me coming?"

Slade smiled blandly from behind his mask. "My dear, that is _exactly_ the point."

--

Slade led them to the beach, where they could clearly see the bay and the giant golden pod sitting in the middle of it, rooted in a solid little island. From the right angle, one couldn't even see the island, and it made the pod seem as though it were hovering over the water.

"Wait, are they attacking the city?" Terra asked, blinking and dumbfounded, watching as a steady stream of green lizard-men flew out from the top of the pod and soared down into the city area on gold-colored metal wings.

"They've initiated their search," Slade informed her.

"Shouldn't we, like… help?" Terra asked, with a slightly more fearful expression.

Slade turned severely to her. "_What_ was that?"

"I'm just—y'know, I didn't mean… I just…" Terra shrank back from him, as best she could. The alien took a step back from Slade, as though to accommodate her, looking at her rather sympathetically. "I'm sorry, sir," she said, staring at her lap.

"You should be," Slade murmured softly, factually, before turning away from them and stepping towards the water.

Terra motioned for the alien to set her down, who complied somewhat reluctantly, rattling off warnings and chidings in her native tongue. The young earthmover winced and whimpered mildly as soon as her feet touched the ground, but she waved off any accompanying help from the alien and warned them both to stay away.

Slade watched her with a thoughtful eye as hers began to glow brightly yellow, calling upon the sacred bond between her and the earth. She lifted her arms, and the ground followed, rising from beneath her, sand falling around them like rain, as stone and gravel and soil rose and coiled around them, in answer to her silent summons. A huge chunk of rock rose ever higher, with Terra as its sole occupant, soon floating high above the ground. Small rocks that could fit in the palm of one's hand, rocks the size of one's head, and even body-sized pieces shuddered their way out of the ground to join Terra at her side, her very own inanimate army.

"Terra," Slade said lyrically, his voice hiding just a sliver of excitement, and perhaps another of pride. "_Go_."

The earthmover and her stone soldiers surged forward into the night, whistling through the air like fired projectiles as they picked up greater and greater speed.

Slade motioned to the alien, "Come. You and I," he gestured to both her and himself, "will go _there_," he gestured to the much-larger ship lurking just above the clouds, which one could see if they looked very, very hard, "and we will be taking _this_." He held up the canvas bag by its rope tie, dangling it before her eyes.

She eyed it suspiciously, and he could see the question lying there, the imperial expression that demanded "_how is that supposed to help?_"

Slade clasped his hands together in front of him, and then made a motion, fingers flying in all directions. The motion was accompanied by only one word: "_Boom_."

She looked at him with excitement in her emerald eyes, and he took note of the rising hope that had begun collecting there. He smiled, perhaps somewhat evilly, and motioned for flight. She slipped her hands beneath his arms and launched herself straight up into the air, instantly soaring, and rising into the frosty clouds. Slade quietly tapped a button on his chest, near his heart, and started up the small oxygen supply he'd hooked up beneath his costume. One didn't wish to pass out before arrival, after all.

Meanwhile, Terra made an arching back flip off her main island, catching two smaller rocks as handholds as she righted herself in midair. The main rock, naturally, kept barreling straight forward and, with a deafening crash, plowed into the side of the Gordanian pod. Terra laughed uncontrollably as the pod buckled and leaned heavily towards its injured side, and the last platoon of lizard-men to leave the pod turned to stare aghast as the rest of their comrades became trapped in the collapsing pod.

"_Yeah_, I did that!" she yelled at them with a manic grin, "What'cha gonna do about it?!"

With violent cries, the lizard-men launched themselves towards the dangling earthmover, wielding gold-colored spears ready for battle. The leading warrior charged into high velocity, intending to spear her like a caught fish; Terra swung to one side, narrowly avoiding contact with his weapon, before she whipped around and sent a heavy rock thudding into the back of his gold-colored helmet. He dropped limply from the sky, landing in the water with an explosive splash. She flailed around on her floating handholds, directing a barrage of stone to coalesce around her like an asteroid field. She swung and leapt from one handhold to the next, laughing like a child at play, as the lizard-men entered her field and were instantly set upon by hearty-sized rocks that threw them off of their flight patterns and knocked the weapons from their scaly hands.

"Mess with my city, huh?!" Terra shouted, "Well, you mess with the building, you deal with the foundation!"

She stopped, hanging from one hand, to rethink that statement.

"…Geez, I gotta think of something better to say than _tha_--"

Paused a moment too long, a lizard struck from behind, throwing his spear with the cry of "_die!_" (_Not_ in English, naturally.)

She heard his voice, starting a swing and dodging the most of the javelin, though the barbed edge tore a long cut across her left hip. She lost her hold, falling for a brief moment before rock jutted out from the island to catch her. She tumbled down its steep slope, ending her roll flat on her back. She propped herself up on her elbow, bringing a hand to the pain at her hip. She glanced down, glaring as her hand came away slick with blood and dirt.

One of the lizard-men had begun hurtling downwards, his spear aimed at her heart, yelling his patriotism to his planet in anticipation for the pride they would feel for him when he killed the filthy earthling who dared to attack them.

Terra glared at him, a strange grin crawling over her face, and swung her arms, bringing her hands together in a single clap in front of her. When her hands connected, so too did two large pieces of rock, smashing into one another like mighty fists with fierce crushing force, the lizard-man caught neatly between them.

--

The alien and Slade made it to the mothership within minutes, unnoticed. She set him down on the hull, and made his way to what looked like a hatch in clear sight of the cockpit windows, where a few lizard-men were stationed to pilot. He motioned to the hatch, before turning and waving calmly at one of the beings in the pit, who whirled and ran from the room, no doubt to alert his superiors of the breach while the alien ripped the hatch door from its hinges.

She was the first down, fists and eyes glowing with that beautiful green energy. Slade followed closely behind her, sword drawn. It was a longsword, one of the only usable ones in his collection, which he kept sharpened for situations such as this.

Not that he _assumed_ he would one day follow an alien girl deep into the heart of her lizard captors' mothership in order to plant a high-grade plasma explosive in the engine core and blow it all to Hell to save the city, but … well, one had to be _prepared_.

Slade had hoped to slip in front of the alien girl at some point, but she was dead set on leading. Well, she _had_ been on the ship before, Slade thought, relenting. It would no doubt go more smoothly if he allowed her to lead him to the engine.

She let out a chilling howl, launching herself forward, firing green bolts, barreling like a juggernaut through the platoon of lizard-men that had just come around the corner. Weapons and charred scale went flying as Slade cocked an eyebrow.

He had really hoped to make this a stealth mission, but…

Well, why _couldn't_ it be? She was already giving him the perfect distraction.

Slade smiled, feeling quite smug. He loved it when things came together like this.

When the girl had finished off the lizards, she charged forward again, deeper into the metal halls of her enemies, seeking sweet justice. Slade sheathed his sword and slipped down a smaller, separate path, into a crawl-space, seeking his way into the ship's heart; all the lizards marched down larger halls to put a stop to the girl's rampage, completely unaware of his presence. He was sure the girl could take care of herself for a little while; most of their army was searching for her on land, after all.

Slade crawled through what must have been an air duct, noting his position from a grate in what looked to be the control room. There were four guards and one especially large lizard, who Slade figured must have been their leader. He was barking orders to his underlings in a coughing, phlegmy language, looking rather furious over a number of misfortunes. He pointed at a wall of holoscreens, which showed his on-land search party being beaten by costumed teens. Slade lingered, watching closely.

A boy in red and green, Robin, whom he'd heard of from Gotham newspapers, seemed to be leading the onslaught. That was a rather interesting development, as this was not Robin's city. Did this indicate a possible schism between the boy and the Batman? Had the boy formed a _team_? Slade made a mental note to gather more information once he had taken care of the alien problem.

The other three were heroes he'd never seen before: a green boy in a stupid-looking mask (though his colors indicated the Doom Patrol), a girl (he assumed) in a blue cloak, and a larger boy in a track suit. They were inconsequential, though they seemed to be doing a good enough job keeping captain lizard's troops from returning to him, despite the lack of teamwork between them.

_Carry on_, he said mentally, as he started up his journey again.

Slade had just moved from the control room into another hall when the big lizard paused, sniffing the air. He rose from the captain's chair, a growl forming deep in his throat. He gestured for his spear, a weapon longer and more decorative but no less deadly than those of his underlings, and stepped down from the dais his chair sat upon.

His yellow, reptilian eyes moved to the air duct, and he sniffed again.

"_I smell an intruder._"

Terra cried out in pain as one of the lizards grabbed her by the foot. Half hanging off a floating rock, she nearly lost her grip as she swung a hand angrily downwards. Following her unspoken command, a softball-sized rock smashed into the lizard's helmet with a _clang!_ He let go, hovering as he held onto his aching head. Terra hissed, shaking violently as she waited for the pain in her injured foot to pass.

"_C'mon_, Slade," she whispered to no one, crawling back onto her rock and sitting on her knees, "I can't keep this up much longer."

Three lizards swept at her from different sides; Terra grabbed tightly onto her rock and dropped from the air, onto the head of the one who had caught her foot and nearly hitting the water herself before she forced the rock to hover again. Above her, the outwitted lizards collided, knocking one unconscious and giving the other two something to think about. Terra skid her seat over a few feet so that the unconscious lizard-man could fall into the bay. She shivered some as she watched him sink down into the cold, black water, weighed down by his metal wings.

Meanwhile, the red-haired alien girl had just forced a squadron of lizard-men over the rails of a catwalk with a spear she had commandeered from the lead one, sending them plummeting to their deaths at the bottom of the gaping metal chasm that contained their ship's massive engine. She turned to call to Slade, and found that he had disappeared. Her victorious grin dissolved. Had they captured him?

"_Bow, Tamaranean, and we may yet show mercy!_" bellowed a lizard-man, in neutral Okaarin, from the door at the far side of the chasm.

"_I will bow to no one!_" she roared in reply, flinging a bolt into his chest. "_I will die before I let you put me back in that prison!_"

"_We have your filthy human companions_," the Gordanian snarled, pressing a hand to his chest where she'd blasted him, breathing in labored gasps. "_Bow willingly, and Lord Trogar will spare their lives._"

The girl stopped, feeling her heart skip a beat. "_You are lying,_" she growled, after a moment.

The Gordanian collapsed to the ground, and breathed his last.

"_No!_" she cried, running towards the dead lizard, her hands glowing. "_You are lying!_" she screamed, "_Rise, and tell me you are lying_!"

She picked him up by the shoulder straps attached to the wings on his back, shaking him furiously. His eyes stared lifelessly past her into the distance, head lolling to the side limply. She spat, and threw him over the railing into the chasm. She picked up the Gordanian spear she'd been using as an auxiliary weapon to her energy bolts, and dragged it behind her as she sought the stairs to the chasm floor.

If it was true that the humans who had helped her were within Gordanian grasp, she would have to destroy the ship on her own, without the weapon Slade had promised. That would prove difficult; she had already used her bolts too much today, and the sun on this planet was still hours from rising. She would have to make do with whatever she found down there.

Slade noticed, after passing through another few rooms, that he was being followed. The big lizard, Trogar, was rather sneaky about it all, coming into each room and barking orders as if it was what he meant to do all along, but Slade could tell by the uncharacteristic amount of sniffing that he did whenever he was near the air duct that he was looking for someone.

Clever, mused Slade, But _two_ can play this game.

Slade carefully pulled a charge disk from his belt and flicked it over his shoulder. He crawled forward as the disk rolled along its edge back, making just enough noise for the ship's sneaky captain to hear. The big lizard roared victoriously, slicing open the air duct with one heavy swipe of his spear-axe.

The charge disk toppled out of the duct and having passed its wait time, exploded in a brilliant flash of light. Trogar, blinded by the light, stumbled into the wall, howling in rage.

Slade smiled and flicked one of his signature disks behind himself, which landed just beyond his toes. Hearing that, the lizard lifted his spear and blindly swiped for the sound, slicing open another piece of duct, shrieking in his gargling language.

The piece of duct he'd sliced from the whole creaked from its holds and toppled to the ground, right on top of the leader of the lizard-men.

Furious that he'd been tricked, the lizard threw the duct to the side and scrambled to his feet, his tail twitching angrily as he growled incomprehensible threats to the duct above. Slade slid himself into position, curled at the edge of the duct's open end.

The leader noticed the movement and moved to look, hefting his spear to stab; Slade viciously uncoiled, smashing his heavy steel-tipped boots into the lizard-man's gnarled, scaly face and knocking him to the ground.

Slade dropped to his feet from the duct with a light chuckle, taking a few seconds to dust off his costume before he headed towards what he was sure was the engine room. There was an opening to one side, full of stairs leading upwards, and Slade was somewhat surprised when a mob of lizard-men came rolling out of it, toppling over one another and finally crashing into the wall across from it.

Following those bumbling fools was the alien girl. "Fancy meeting you here," said Slade, with a polite bow.

She halted in her steps, staring at him in a most disbelieving manner, before she leapt from the stairs and flew to him, throwing her arms around his neck in a relieved hug. Slade's eyebrows raised, perhaps a little confused, but patted her on the back nevertheless. "Thank you, my dear," he said soothingly, "but we should get going."

The girl's eyes widened over Slade's shoulder at the lizard-men's leader lying only meters from them. The captain had just begun to stir, propping himself up on his big, scaly arms with a groan. With a well-aimed bolt to the head, she shot him down again, without even having to let go of Slade. She finally let him go once she was sure the captain was out cold, and then smiled at him, smug. He eyed her with approval.

They entered the engine room together, stepping around the crumpled bodies of fallen Gordanians and heading towards what looked to be the main reactor. Slade smiled as he pulled the plasma bomb from his canvas bag.

Terra let out a sigh, sitting on top of the critically damaged Gordanian military pod, surrounded by the lizard invaders. She was breathing hard, winded from a fight that had gone on just a little too long.

One of them gargled at her harshly, threatening her with its spear.

"_Bite me_," she spat. "I'm not in the mood… and my feet hurt."

Simultaneously, the group raised their spears to stab her all at once, when all of a sudden a mighty explosion lit up the sky with a bright flash of vermillion. One of the monsters to her side let out a cry of surprise, pointing to where the explosion had come from; the group instantly scattered, leaving Terra completely alone.

The earthmover let out another sigh, this time one of relief, before she finally turned to see what had scared them.

She saw a giant golden ship coming through the clouds.

It was on fire, still in the process of exploding, and it was heading _directly towards her_.

"Oh," she said. "Well, that makes sense."

Terra snapped her fingers and a rock floated up to her. She clambered onto it, and rode it to the relative safety of the shore.

The alien girl, carrying Slade, joined her shortly after, both still trailing just a little bit of smoke. They turned to witness as the golden Gordanian mothership smashed into the military pod. Together the ships let off a gigantic explosion, destroying the vehicles beyond all conceivable repair and for a few moments, cast the city in a pretty orange glow.

"Um, wow," said Terra, shielding her eyes. "That is prob'ly the biggest fireball I've ever seen."

"A close second," Slade corrected her.

"Oh, right," Terra murmured, a nostalgic smile crossing her dirt-smudged face. "The oil refinery."

The ships collapsed into the ocean and began sinking, never to be seen again.

"I see you held up your end," Slade commented, gazing at Terra with a cool eye as the pod disappeared from view.

"Piece of cake," Terra responded with a grin. "I got bored partway through."

"So I see," Slade said, gesturing to the cut on her hip.

Terra's face reddened, and she placed a hand over the injury. "S'nothin'."

The alien clicked her tongue at the earthmover, seeming to disagree, moving to Terra's side to examine the wound and shaking her head disappointedly.

Terra glared at her, slapping her hands away. "What is this? Who d'you think you are, my _mother_?"

"_Terra_," the alien said, commandingly, exactly as Slade had earlier.

"Wh-_what_?" the blonde blinked bewilderedly. "How'd you…?"

Slade chuckled quietly. "I see she's discerned your name."

The girl turned her brilliantly green eyes to her masked savior next, narrowing into a victorious half-glare. "_Slade_," she said.

"And mine," he amended. "That's very good," he told the girl. "You?" he asked, pointing at her.

"_Koriand'r_," she replied, placing a hand on her chest.

"Koriand'r," Slade repeated, breathing the words as though they contained a sacred, mystical power. "Beautiful."

"Kor—" Terra stuck on the first syllable. "Kory-uh… Korean—um." Her mouth twitched, eyes narrowing. "…I'm just gonna call you Kory, okay?"

* * *

**A/N:** _I told you it got weird_.

Fun Fact: Every time I tried to type "Trogar," I accidentally wrote "Trogdor," so after a while I just stopped trying. Yay nerdy!

How's my action? I love writing chaotic battle, which involved a lot of scene and POV-switching, so I'm wondering if it's as clear as I want it to be. Just curious, is all. If there's anything I need to work more on (like _characterization_ or _plot_), feel free to mention so. Next chapter: culinary culture shock! Star/Terra friendship-weirdness ensues.


	3. I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here

**Disclaimer?:** I do not claim to own Teen Titans, Oliver Twist, Annie the Musical, or Charlie Chaplin's _The Kid_, and I make no profit off of this abomination of literature.

**Summary?:** Starfire of Tamaran, newly arrived on Earth, must face the tribulations of finding one's place in a strange world, with Slade's den of thieves as her only guide.

**Notes:** Don't forget, "Koriand'r" is Starfire's canon real name.

Also: Tamaranean culture. Okaara and X'Hal (and the subsequent sun-based religion) are canon, but most of the nonsensical stuff comes _entirely_ from _off the top of my head_, and can mean whatever you'd like it to mean.

Now go enjoy the meaningless fluff that I have strewn willy-nilly about this chapter!

* * *

**A Day Away**

by: Griffinmon

**Chapter Three: I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here**

_I know I'm gonna like it here!  
Used to room in a tomb  
Where I'd sit and freeze.  
Get me now, holy cow!  
Could someone pinch me please?_

-- Annie

The alien girl, Koriand'r, awoke late in the afternoon, reflecting how late she'd gotten to sleep. The weather was clouded, but the setting sun in the window had caught her conscious, pulling her from forgotten dreams.

For a moment, she was wary, as she did not recognize the room she was in. It took a second for her to recall all that had transpired, and then she relaxed. The Gordanians were gone. She was free again.

That thought cheered her considerably, and she rose from her bed to look out the window. The light was still warm on her face, and she smiled happily for the first time in what seemed like forever. She threw open the tan curtains, letting the orange sun stream into the room.

A groan rose up from a lump in the covers, muttered in a funny, muffled tone, rolled over and continued to snore.

"Terra," Koriand'r said with a smile.

There was only snoring in reply.

The blonde human had turned out to be rather nice, in a strange sort of way, despite the strained circumstances under which they'd met. She'd even let the Tamaranean stay in her room for the night. It was not that they _couldn't_ get a private room just for her, but that Koriand'r had refused the gesture, preferring to stay near the injured earthmover. Terra stubbornly refused help with bandaging her wounds, for reasons Koriand'r could not understand, though she sensed it might have had something to do with Slade.

Nevertheless, Koriand'r had decided she liked Terra. The earthmover spoke in a cheerful drawl that Koriand'r enjoyed listening to, despite not understanding what was said.

The alien had tried to remedy the language problem, but the one called Slade had thwarted her at every turn. He was a smart man, oddly handsome (in that seasoned warrior way that reminded her of her kinorfka), and incredibly charming, not to mention a dazzlingly competent fighter. He _had_ just helped her blow her slavers' ship straight into X'Hal's Hands, after all. She had no doubt that, if they had been on Tamaran, he would have garnered the highest honors from the Grand Ruler himself.

He also seemed to have a very good grasp on body language. It made it easier to communicate, but Koriand'r would have preferred he let her kiss him and be done with it. A language kiss would have made all the flailing and hand signaling instantly unnecessary. They just didn't seem to understand her _intention_ with it; perhaps kissing on this planet was a gesture of enmity? Oh, that was a sad thought indeed! She had tried multiple times with Slade already; surely, he hadn't taken it as a sign of her hostility? Terra certainly had, at first.

Koriand'r resolved to apologize to the both of them later. She would make them the traditional Dish of Sincere Apologies, a pudding-like substance served warm and bittersweet… refusal of which generally ended in war and hurt feelings.

At the thought of this, her stomach (one of them, anyway) rumbled urgently, and it occurred to her just how hungry she was. The Gordanians hadn't fed her any more than was necessary to sustain life, and she had been so caught up in Slade's artful destruction that she'd briefly forgotten all about it in her excitement. He had a way of energizing a soul, buried in that sultry, hope-inspiring voice. She had noticed upon meeting that Slade possessed a deep, soothing tone that could radiate security as easily as it could inspire fear. She wasn't yet sure of how she felt about it and she _wouldn't_ be sure until she'd gotten some food.

Koriand'r floated over Terra's sprawl of floor-bound stuff and quietly slipped out the door, closing it behind her with a wall-shaking and greatly unintended _BAM!_

Koriand'r winced and waited for Terra to wake. There were a few moments of nervous silence before Koriand'r heard the distinct sound of Terra's snore dimly filtered through the wood. The alien had to smile; Terra seemed remarkably persistent when it came to her rest cycle. It reminded her of the great grinkops of Okaara, who slumbered so heavily not even the traditional Song of Immediate Waking (which consisted of one long note played on a blagnorp and accompanied by screaming) could stir them.

Comforted that she had not disturbed her new acquaintance, Koriand'r headed down the hall. There was only one other door that was open on this floor and it was a very strange room, colored white and silver with fuzzy cloth on the floor and hanging from metal racks. There were three bowls, one small and covered that sat low to the floor, one very large, and a medium-sized one shaped like the traditional Tamaranean pedestal of cleansing; they all seemed to be connected to the wall in some way. There were levers on all three and though they all made the sound of rushing water when pulled, only two of them visibly produced it in streams.

There was a box on the wall with a reflective surface. The movement startled Koriand'r, who thought someone had snuck up on her; she whipped around with Starbolts ready at her fingers and a growl rising in her throat. She found that the figure in the box _was_ her, and instantly relaxed. She promptly moved to examine herself in the mirror image.

She was in quite a state: her royal, warrior's undersuit was blackened from smoke and no longer shined like it was supposed to, and her overclothes were looking a little worn from all the fighting. Without a second thought, she took them off, throwing them into the largest bowl. This left her with the comfy and preferred casual wear of her homeland: a two-piece set made of cloth and flexible metalloids which appeared in the form of her remaining arm guards, neck-piece and arm band.

On the wall above the largest bowl, suspended in little metal weave baskets, something else caught Koriand'r's eye. There were bottles of colorful liquids which smelled fruity and delightful.

They did not taste very good at all.

She left the room with a bitter taste in her mouth (and mysteriously coughing up bubbles every so often). It was comparable to the blorgax plant of Tamaran, which produced a colorful, edible nectar during the Gathering Cycle of the suns; it truly was _delicious_, but digesting it tended to torment its consumer with the terrible Gaxik Condition, which turned Tamaraneans a highly embarrassing (and itchy) shade of pink and caused them to belch bubbles for days afterward.

Koriand'r was not partial to the pinkness, so she resolved never to eat the bottled bubble liquid ever again.

She floated down the stairs, her feet curled under her to keep them from dragging, and found herself in the front area where the main doorway was located. She stared up at the high ceiling, now visible in the morning light streaming in from the windows. The light cast a lovely glow on the pillars and her heart suddenly ached for Tamaran, for it reminded her of the gardens of the Great Palace when the suns set.

Her stomach growled again, more urgently than before, and Koriand'r turned to explore the hall that Slade had first led her down, on the way to the room hidden behind a wall. She saw that the door to the room of infinite tomes was closed now.

She had been truly impressed with the collection, as many of the tomes on Tamaran were considered rare and sacred. Much of their information – their technologies and their histories – was stored in machines, and anything written was done so in the most permanent fashion possible: carved in stone, or engraved in metal. Tamaran had not used scrolls and books for some time. After all, if the material didn't survive, how could the history?

Another grumble forced the alien to move on; she would contemplate philosophies later.

She saw an open doorway not far from the tome collection. She peeked around the corner cautiously to check for enemies, before she entered the room. It was a large space, divided by an enclosed table, which led into a slightly more technological-looking place. There were black machines in every corner and all along the surfaces, ranging in size from the breadth of a hand to her height and three times as wide.

She approached the large machine first, examining it with a keen eye. It was split into two compartments, each with its own door, with a silver lever on front set into a small, white alcove.

She pressed the lever first and blinked in surprise when it spat out a handful of ice pieces shaped as cubes. She thanked the machine cheerily before shoving the cubes in her mouth.

Crunching on the freezing snack substitute, she explored the machine's other compartments.

The top one was freezing cold and contained a number of small and colorful boxes with pictures of tasty-looking food on them. She pulled out one of the larger boxes (since she was very hungry), one with the picture of a happy-looking child, and found that it contained colored ice on sticks. She stuck one in her mouth and promptly wondered why the human was smiling, because the flavor of this didn't make _her_ happy _at all_.

However, once she bit through the waxy, dry outer layer, she found that it tasted _much_ better on the inside. Was this food some kind of spiritual test? she wondered. Was it a lesson in perseverance?

She ate most of the thing, though she left some of the waxy layer and didn't bother finishing the wooden stick and started scavenging for something else.

She tore open a box with a promising picture of a hot meal, and found that it looked nothing like the picture. Instead, it looked like plimdrimps that had cultivated a fungus before being caught in an Okaarin cold cycle, and she knew _for a fact_ that frozen plimdrimp fungus was highly overrated. It made a delightful side dish to traditional roasted klor, but as a meal in itself, it was most unsatisfactory.

Disappointed, she tossed it over her shoulder and opened the next box. And the next one. And the _next one_ after that, but _none_ of the insides of the boxes looked anything like what it showed on the picture.

With an aggravated sigh, she opened the next compartment. She blinked when a little light came on just as she was opening the door. How thoughtful! She thanked the machine for providing the light (attributing it to X'Hal's good will, reaching out to her from Okaara), and began grabbing bottles from the various shelves and tasting their contents one by one.

One of the larger bottles was half-full of sharp, orange, _fizzing_ liquid that was incredibly sweet-tasting. The fizzing caught her off guard, and she choked on the first unsuspecting gulp, coughing until her throat thought itself cleared. She also thought she'd felt some of it travel up her nose (which burned a little).

She then glared at the bottle and tossed it across the kitchen.

Right before she vaporized it with a Starbolt.

The next two bottles were brown and made the same hissing noise when opened as the first bottle, so she did not bother trying them. She imagined the hissing must have been an identifying warning sound, like the chirp of the stinging blue Korpang, whose unique and shrill double chirp was only heard when it was about to go for the eyes.

She destroyed those, too.

She discovered a yellow bottle on a shelf inside the door, and sniffed at it experimentally. When she twisted open the conical cap, it did not make a hissing sound, so she ventured to take a sip. It was a viscous, thick, bright yellow liquid that tasted tangy and just a little spicy and _absolutely amazing_. On her planet, such beverages were served only at grand celebratory dinners for events like joining ceremonies and crownings. She licked her lips, savoring the taste.

Next, she pulled a strange carton that contained a number of white orbs. When she shook them, it sounded as though they contained a liquid, and she came to the conclusion that it was a torthorp egg. She had no idea that torthorps migrated this far. How delightful!

She clasped the egg in her hand and called forth a Starbolt, holding it and allowing the radiant energy to cook the egg. After a few moments, she bit into it, and blinked at the difference in taste. This was not a torthorp egg. This was not a torthorp egg _at all_.

In an effort to improve it, she poured a bit of the yellow beverage on top.

A kind-sounding voice, from a person which she did not recognize (in addition to not understanding what it said, of course), interrupted her meal by entering the kitchen without a warning sound.

She leapt to her feet, the cooked egg hanging partially out of her mouth, the bottle in one hand, and her free hand menacing her would-be attacker with a green bolt. "Who are you?" she asked of him, first in Tamaranian, and then in Okaarin, "Identify yourself or be destroyed." Though as she said it around the egg in her mouth, it sounded more like "_Khhmmphr mmph, ummnghth mmmrkhhhgh khth._"

Realizing she sounded like a fool, she spat the half-eaten egg onto the ground and repeated herself in a properly intimidating fashion.

An old man stood there, hair white and receding, with a short, curling moustache hovering over a helpful smile. He raised his hands in surrender, the smile never leaving his lips. He introduced himself with a light tap to his chest, "_I am_ _Wintergreen_."

Koriand'r lowered her hand, still suspicious. She echoed to the best of her ability, "I-Am-Win-Ta-Green."

The man nodded, laughing. He went on with his introduction, but the names _Slade_ and _Terra_ were also mentioned, with the kind of casualty that indicated he knew them. Koriand'r snapped to attention, suddenly interested. "Slade?" she parroted. "Terra?"

Was this I-Am-Win-Ta-Green a servant of theirs? Slade seemed to be a powerful man, she wouldn't doubt it if he had a man or two in his service. The Great Palace kept people for that purpose; in fact, her very own kinorfka was a servant of the crown. Her kinorfka, however, was also a warrior – one of the greatest on the battlefields. She wondered if I-Am-Win-Ta-Green could also claim this or if Earth at least followed similar logic.

He laughed a little at her confusion and began to ramble, gesturing at the yellow bottle she was holding and then at the half-eaten egg on the floor. He seemed to repeat himself, in something of a kind offer.

Koriand'r glanced at the bottle, the eggs, then back at him. His voice indicated sincerity, and he had made no motion of hostility. And, well, surely _he_ would know how to properly cook these bizarre things. She picked up the carton from where it sat on the floor and handed it to him. She offered him the bottle as well, but he shook his head with a laugh. He then smiled, motioned to a large, silver machine behind her, and carefully circumnavigated the unholy TV dinner mess on the kitchen floor.

Koriand'r watched with fascination as Wintergreen pulled some utensils from cupboards and went to work, cracking the white and yellow egg centers into a bowl, adding a variety of colorful things he'd chopped up to the mix before pouring it all into a hot pan. It sizzled enticingly and smelled heavenly.

He folded the yellow food in half, let it cook a little more, and dropped it onto a plate. He said something cheerfully, perhaps a gracing toast as he handed the plate to her.

Koriand'r sniffed it briefly, before picking it up and tearing into it like a starved animal. The omelet was gone within seconds and washed down by a gulp from the yellow bottle, leaving baffled Wintergreen staring in shock. Koriand'r shoved the plate back at him and wagged it, demanding more.

He murmured a word disbelievingly, a chuckle rising in his chest. He looked her in the eye with a smile, continuing to speak idly. He tapped his chin and said something to himself.

Koriand'r watched as Wintergreen began bustling back and forth between cupboards and cabinets and the mysterious box of ice. She smiled a bit, reminded once more of her sweet kinorfka, who occasionally aided the palace cooks in making her treats. Thinking back on it like this, she realized that she missed him, and Tamaran, a great deal. She missed them more than she ever imagined she could. It had been a long time since she'd seen the faces of her people, or those of her family.

With a sad sigh, Koriand'r stepped back to take a look around while Wintergreen cooked. There were two other doors, on opposite sides of the kitchen, which she'd missed in her search for food. One led to a room with a large table, surrounded by a number of matching chairs (there were eight chairs in total). The walls were tan and brown, and a cabinet to one side displayed a number of flat pieces with pictures of architecture in blue. There were a few pictures on the walls, which Koriand'r noted seemed to narrate a scene; on one there was a lady in large, pink and unwieldy clothes, on a swing hanging from a tree. It seemed she was kicking off her shoe. Another young man watched her, and both seemed to be smiling.

Koriand'r was not entirely sure of the purpose. Was this a historical depiction? She had seen similar things in the hall, which had seemed less like a progression and more like an assortment. Earth history was very strange, she decided.

The other door led into a mostly blue room, which contained some large, pillowy sitting thrones, a squat, smaller table, some shelves with thin tomes, and a stack of devices. The largest device appeared to be a communication screen of some sort, though it looked rather primitive by Tamaranean standards.

Still, it was a communication port. Surely, Slade wouldn't mind if she tried to contact her home planet? She couldn't stay here _forever_, after all…

She began examining the various dials and buttons on the machinery before her.

--

Wintergreen looked up as Terra staggered into the kitchen, wearing her oversized bathrobe and a pair of bunny slippers. He could see a generous amount of gauze wrapped around each foot, and noted that she was limping visibly, each step accompanied by a dramatic wince.

"Ah, Miss Terra," he said. "Watch your step."

"Ha ha," she grumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Slade tell you about my—" Terra halted mid-sentence, suddenly registering the frozen food exodus taking place on the tile floor. "Sweet mother Mrs. Bairds—_my hot pockets_!"

"Our visitor found the fridge," Wintergreen said with a chuckle, "As you can see."

"No kidding, Jeeves!" Terra snapped, clutching at an armful of open trays and packages of cold, watery junk food that she'd snatched from the floor. "What'm I s'pposed do about _lunch_?!"

"I'm making dinner now," Wintergreen offered, "You can share with our g—"

"Are the Twinkies okay? She didn't eat my Twinkies, did she?" The earthmover asked suddenly, dropping the TV dinners back on the floor and hobbling hurriedly to the pantry. Wintergreen rolled his eyes as Terra pulled a white and yellow box from the top shelf, breathing a deep sigh of relief. "Oh, good, they're still here."

Wintergreen shook his head, wondering how in the world the girl survived on such so-called _foods_. "As I was saying," he tried again, "Dinner will be ready momentarily."

"_Mph_?" asked Terra, around a Twinkie, "_Mmph eh heh_?"

The older man made a face, slightly disgusted. "Banana pancakes," he answered, "With a side of bacon and scrambled eggs. I thought breakfast for dinner might be a nice treat."

Terra shot him the thumbs-up as she shoved the rest of the Twinkie into her mouth and gave him a sponge cake smile.

"Perhaps you'd like to, ah," Wintergreen glanced over his shoulder at the mess on the floor. "…Set the table."

Terra swallowed the last of the Twinkie, ready to retort, when a loud static _screeeeeeech_ exploded from the direction of the living room. Terra clapped her hands over her ears, her curse of surprise drowned out by the noise. She hobbled quickly to the door and found the alien girl jabbing at buttons on the surround sound system.

Seeing as yelling at the girl would have been futile, she swept over to the console and turned the volume down herself. When the screech was nothing more than a vague, soft crackle in the speakers, she turned and glared at the girl.

Koriand'r blinked at her, slowly removing her fingers from her ears. She then said something that sounded like it might have been a snide comment about the stereo system.

"Uh," Terra glanced dubiously at the stack of electronics. "_What_?"

Koriand'r pointed at the television and began explaining something-or-other in her hard-edged language. Terra watched the girl shake her head and gesture back and forth between the cable box, the VCR, the DVD player, and the sub-woofer, as though she were pointing out some kind of mathematical inconsistency to a board of physicists.

"Uhm… _no_?" Terra said, looking honestly confused. "Okay, I dunno what you think you're doing," she added, "But I'm pretty sure you're doing it wrong."

The alien set her hands on her hips, giving Terra a disapproving glower, as though to say _I know _exactly_ what I'm doing._

Terra let out a resigned sigh. "Okay, here. Lemme just, uhm." She glanced between the alien girl and the electronics, contemplating the infinitely futile ways she could explain the things. "...Yeah, how 'bout I just, like, _show you_?" She said finally and reached for the DVD rack.

--

When Sylvia D'Amico awoke late that afternoon, Slade was waiting, in full Deathstroke garb, at her hotel's balcony window. The setting sun made him hardly noticable in the growing shadows of the evening.

Slade noted how the dark-haired beauty seemed to float across the floor to the sliding glass doors. She was dressed in next to nothing, covered only by a white bathrobe with the hotel name emblazoned on the front. She slinked out of her room and approached him with very little hesitation.

Slade was _very_ sure that she was carrying a gun under that robe.

"Good evening, Miss D'Amico," Slade greeted, placing emphasis on '_Miss_.'

"Good evening." Her mouth quirked in a sly smile. "Would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you," he responded, with a gentlemanly bow of his head.

"Surely there is something I can offer you," she coaxed, one of the shoulders of her robe slipping a few inches southward.

"Cash will be fine," Slade replied calmly, with a hidden smile.

Sylvia D'Amico's expression grew grim as she tightened her robe over her slender form, suddenly prudent and business-like. "Very well. I'll just be a moment."

Slade made note of her advances and the sudden change in attitude, and concluded that she was up to something. However, he would reserve judgment until either A) the money was in his hands, or B) there was a bullet in his chest. Luckily, his costume was bulletproof, so option B would not be a problem.

He also noted that there was someone else in the room, though that other person was attempting to be quite stealthy for the time being. Slade couldn't make out a face from where he stood.

Miss D'Amico returned with a black briefcase in her hands, handing it to Slade with a solemn look.

"Why the long face?" asked Slade, vying to keep himself within her good books. He'd already assumed that the second person was some sort of bodyguard. "Mister D'Amico is quite gone. You've your entire life ahead of you."

"There was no news report," she muttered.

Slade assumed she meant that Alonzo D'Amico's death, which was supposed to have been incredibly high-profile, had failed to make headlines. "Ah, well," he began, a bit jokingly, "Alien invasions tend to take precedence over most major broadcasts."

She didn't even crack a smile.

Slade settled back on his heels, rolling his shoulders in a vague shrug. "I would consider the alien intrusion in the media a blessing, if you don't mind me saying so. It will keep the police occupied, and keep the eventual suspicion of your involvement in your husband's murder at bay."

She still didn't look convinced. "Take your money and go."

Slade made a bow, "Thank you kindly for your business, my lady."

Sylvia D'Amico turned her back to him, and strutted back into her room, slamming the glass door behind herself and pulling the blinds. Slade smirked; she was _definitely_ up to something.

The Terminator took his leave, taking the nearest clothesline to the roof of the building next door. From there, he began making his way eastward across the grid, in the opposite direction of his bayside home. A few rooftops down, he paused in his journey and took a seat.

There were _a lot_ of Benjamin Franklins to greet him when he popped open the briefcase. From his belt, he extracted a pocketknife and sliced open the case's lining. Finding nothing in the top half, he proceeded to empty the money from the case and then checked the bottom half for bugs. Finding nothing still, Slade pursed his lips and thought, _if _I_ were a burgeoning mafiosa who had hired a clever, handsome assassin to kill my husband and was determined to find him again, where would _I_ hide a tracking bug?_

After a bit of linear reasoning, Slade concluded that it was probably on one of the bills. With a sigh, he made himself comfortable and began thumbing through the first stack of hundreds.

--

Koriand'r watched Charlie Chaplin strut and tumble through his forty-minute misadventure with wide eyes, giggling at the physical comedy, and sighing at the bittersweet. Terra chuckled as well, pleased that she'd found something that could appeal to the both of them. Silent movies, and these especially needed very little translation to make them enjoyable.

"Breakfast," announced Wintergreen from the kitchen.

"Yeah," answered Terra absently, her focus attached almost exclusively to the screen. She glanced momentarily over at her new movie partner. Koriand'r sat on the floor, hugging her long legs to her chest, mesmerized by the things on the screen. She seemed different, and somehow more childlike now that the aliens were gone and their cities and lives were no longer in mortal peril. Though the circumstances had been very strange, it was like rediscovering an old friend that she'd never had.

The alien girl looked over at Terra, blinking, realizing the blonde was staring. Her thin brows furrowed, and she pointed to the screen, where the action was taking place, and said... something.

Terra laughed a little, embarrassed but nodding. "Um, yeah. Sure," she agreed, before turning back to watch.

"Breakfast is ready," Wintergreen repeated, louder this time, poking around the door frame.

"In'na minute!" Terra snapped.

Wintergreen just rolled his eyes. "It's going to get cold," he added dryly.

"_Movie_," Terra barked.

"Movie," echoed Koriand'r, with a contented sigh.

"I don't think Slade would appreciate it if he knew you were putting off a balanced breakfast in favor of brain rot," said Wintergreen, standing in the mini-theater's doorway and clasping his hands behind his back.

Both girls snapped to attention at the mention of Slade. Wintergreen was as authoritative a figure as Slade himself; in fact, they even shared the same no-nonsense military stance.

"There's nothing wrong with Charlie Chaplin," Terra muttered sulkily, tapping at the pause button on the remote. The Tramp froze mid-step, and Koriand'r shot her a confused glare.

Terra pointed accusingly at Wintergreen, redirecting the impending wrath, and then gestured for Koriand'r to follow. After a last glance at the unmoving figures on the screen, the alien girl reluctantly rose to her feet and floated after the shambling earthmover.

Terra grumbled incoherently as she made her way towards the breakfast-laden kitchen table. Koriand'r giggled, passing the earthmover with a sly grin. Terra raised an eyebrow, swatting harmlessly at the alien. "What's so funny, huh?"

Koriand'r giggled again, pointing at Terra's slippered and bandaged feet; she then tapped her upper lip and twitched her nose.

Wintergreen observed this and glanced questioningly at Terra.

Terra blinked, her expression slowly dissolving from confusion into mild incredulity. "I do _not _have Charlie Chaplin feet."

Wintergreen did a brief double take between the two "...What?"

Terra pointed at Koriand'r. "She- she said I walk like the Tramp. I do _not_," she whined, turning pleadingly to Wintergreen. "I'm injured, I can't help it!"

The white-haired elder man laughed lightly, a silver eyebrow raised. "I can't even _begin_ to fathomhow you managed to discern that load of nonsense."

"S'not that hard," Terra snorted, looking back towards Koriand'r who seemed to be eyeing the food ravenously.

"If it helps, I believe you," said Wintergreen congenially, ushering Terra to her chair. "Now please, the both of you, _eat_."

"Okay, okay," grumbled Terra, as she flopped into the wooden chair.

Koriand'r followed suit, in the chair opposite the blonde; she set her hands on top of the table, arched forward, and bared her teeth.

Wintergreen took a step back, startled. "Is she quite all right?"

Terra blinked nervously, "I- I dunno. Uhm. K-Kory...? You okay, there?"

Koriand'r responded sharply, her eyes darting up from the food momentarily.

Terra looked up at Wintergreen. "Uh. You think she's waiting for a signal?"

Wintergreen looked positively baffled, "A signal for _what_?"

"For breakfast?" Terra shrugged, "Hell if I know."

"Language, young lady," Wintergreen chided absently, as his attention drew back to the alien. "Ah... I think this is on _your_ mark, dear," he said to Terra.

"Oh," Terra blinked. "Okay. Uhm... go."

And she reached for the bacon.

The resulting breakfast carnage was _terrifying_.

Right out of the gate, the alien tore food from the plates with her hands and crammed it into her mouth before the earthmover could even pick anything for herself. Bacon, syrup, toast, eggs, pancakes, _mustard_, the alien consumed it all at an alarming pace while Terra and Wintergreen watched in shock.

A few handfuls in, Koriand'r paused, swallowing the mass of food in her mouth. She looked pointedly at Terra, and growled something, gesturing at the food, much of which now lay torn and scattered across the table.

Terra stared at the food, then at Koriand'r, then back at the food. "...'kay."

Wintergreen turned to Terra in surprise. "What did she say?"

Terra shot him an irritated look, as though to say, _do you honestly think I understood that?_

Wintergreen's curious expression melted away, and he rolled his eyes. "Of course. My apologies."

The blonde snorted, then turned to consider the situation, and the alien, who seemed to be waiting on her. "Huh," she murmured. "Okay. I get it." Her eyebrow raised and a smirk crawled over her face. "You wanna race, huh? Okay, you got it, bubbles."

Wintergreen slapped a hand to his forehead, and let out an aggravated sigh.

"Ready? Set... Go!"

--

About three-fourths of the way through his substantial amount of cash, he found a hundred-dollar bill that was slightly different from its predecessors. The area around one of the eyes was slightly off color, and when Slade examined it further with the magnifying glass he carried around in his pouch, he discovered it to be the bug for which he had been looking. He shook his head with a sigh. He'd so hoped this mafioso business would go well, but alas. People just had to make things harder for themselves. In any case, Slade carefully tore the bug from the bill, leaving Ben Franklin with one less eye. Considering how his own eye had been taken from him, Slade figured he knew a little about how that felt.

For a moment, he wondered how he ought to get rid of the bug. He could crush it, of course, but that would be an instant giveaway to whoever happened to be watching. However... Slade chuckled.

Rising to his feet, Slade slunk over to where a few pigeons were busy pecking at the asphalt. With a swift lunge, he caught one of the birds in midflight, a grey and white thing that writhed and coo'ed in his hand. Carefully, he slipped the tiny paper piece beneath a few of the feathers on its back, and released it. It fluttered away with an indignant noise.

Well, now the bug was gone, and Slade still had his money, though this didn't mean he'd seen the last of Lady D'Amico. She'd figure out what happened eventually, and would likely attempt to hunt him down. For a little while, he'd honestly convinced himself that he was doing it for her benefit; that freedom, and not the mob itself, was what she was after. _Great going, old man_, he told himself bitterly.

With a last sigh, Slade stuck the slightly less-whole bill back in the briefcase, and shut it tight. He then reached for his cell phone.

--

The girls had torn through breakfast at an unholy speed, the disappointed Wintergreen witnessing, with the kind of manners that no doubt made his mother turn in her grave.

"Are you _quite _finished?" he asked the two when the food was gone. They were slumping in their seats, full and possibly victorious. It was hard to tell who had won the match.

Terra let out a belch in reply. Koriand'r giggled, clapping her hands in approval. Wintergreen twitched, ever so slightly.

The blonde hoisted herself from her seat, teetering precariously on her feet. "C'mon, Kory, let's finish the movie."

Koriand'r rose quickly, sliding an arm beneath Terra's shoulders to help her balance. "_Movie_," she parroted, with an excited smile.

They disappeared into the TV room, and Wintergreen took a look around at the kitchen. Frozen foods lay ruined on the floor, and the table-- dear God, the table was _worse_.

"No need to jump to my aid all at once," Wintergreen said, to no one in particular. "I can handle... this."

He rolled up his sleeves, just as his phone started in with a poor, mechanical rendition of _Clair d'Lune_. Silently, he praised the heavens, and answered with a crisp, "Yes, Slade?...

"Ah... sounds like an exciting day. Just give me a tick to get things straightened out over here, and I'll bring the car round. Slade, you wouldn't _believe_ these two. They're practically Laurel and Hardy, the way they've been... No, I _don't_ know which one's which."

Nearly an hour passed before Slade's familiar black sedan pulled into the designated parking garage. Slade was a patient man, but this was pushing it just a tad.

"What took you so long?" he asked Wintergreen, in the controlled voice that indicated his annoyance.

"The girls made a mess of the kitchen," his white-maned friend replied with a sigh. He pulled the car out of the garage and onto the road. "I only just got everything back in order."

Slade raised an eyebrow. "They've been there less than half a day."

"I know," said Wintergreen, "I'm as amazed as you. I have never seen food eaten like that. Not in Vietnam, not in Laos, not in Egypt... no where. The two are _savages_."

Slade's _other_ eyebrow rose.

Wintergreen locked eyes with the costumed man. "...You think I'm joking, don't you?"

"Not at all," Slade answered. "Koriand'r has her own customs. It wouldn't surprise me if her table manners were a little uncultured."

"_Uncultured_, he says!" Wintergreen laughed sardonically. "It's worse than that. There's not even a word for it... You're lucky you didn't have to pick up after them."

"Indeed," agreed Slade softly, ending the conversation.

Wintergreen picked up on this. "Ah, well, enough about the terror twins. I imagine pick-up did not go as desired?"

"Not particularly." Slade turned to regard the rear view mirror. "D'Amico was fishing for a reason to kill me. I didn't give her the chance."

"Good show," congratulated Wintergreen, somewhat jokingly.

Slade's mouth quirked one-sidedly. "She won't stop there. I found a bug in the money."

"You got rid of it, I hope?" Wintergreen looked mildly worried for a moment. He wouldn't have put it past Slade to throw himself into things like these for the challenge of it.

"I did," Slade answered with a nod. "But I get the feeling I missed one."

Wintergreen turned a confused look to him.

"Don't look now, my friend," Slade said, gesturing to the mirror, where a dark blue sports car trailed them from three cars away. "But we have a tail."

Wintergreen's friendly demeanor melted away, replaced with purely business. "I'll take the detour downtown. If the traffic doesn't lose them, I will."

"Good man," said Slade, grinning behind his mask, as Wintergreen took their sedan farther from their original destination.

The white-haired pair snuck their vehicle down one-way roads, taking quick and almost randomly selected turns. Slade gave direction, though Wintergreen had very similar ideas. Their pattern was precise and well-executed.

However, the blue car that trailed them followed with keen intelligence. It sped around corners and sought out Slade with predatory movement. It dodged through traffic, accelerating to its top speed, sweeping up onto the sidewalk to pass the cars in its way, even with Slade and Wintergreen.

As the nose of the sports car drew even with Slade's sedan, he saw the driver-side window rolling down. It dawned on Slade that something very unfortunate was about to happen.

"Get down!" he yelled, shortly before gunshots erupted from the pistols of the two greasy-looking individuals in the car.

Instead of heeding Slade's warning, Wintergreen put the sedan into a spin, striking the sports car in the side and throwing it into a spin as well. The sports car righted itself first, but the driver was too dazed to respond. Wintergreen corrected the sedan and whipped around, zooming off in the opposite direction.

"What are you doing?" snapped Slade. "They're herding us!"

Wintergreen blinked, and his eyes widened as he realized that was_ exactly _what was happening. Whoops.

Before he could make another U-turn, a blue sedan emerged from an alley, neck and neck with Slade and Wintergreen. Another sports car came from the opposite alley, moving to block their other side. The first sports car sped up from behind, blocking in Slade's sedan from behind.

"Looks like we're not going to have a choice," Wintergreen muttered.

"Did you bring the gun?" asked Slade, his voice cool as he examined their situation carefully.

"Don't I always?"

"All right," Slade continued, "You know what to do."

Wintergreen jammed his foot down on the gas pedal, and the sedan shot forward. Without warning, he pulled the sedan across the lane, cutting off the blue sports car and careening into a turn. The blue car screeched to a stop, narrowly avoiding a light post, but the other two shifted gears to catch up to Slade and Wintergreen.

Wintergreen led them in a circle and led them into a cul-de-sac, where he swung the car around; Slade flung open the door and tumbled out of the car, rolling to his feet and disappearing into the shadows of the buildings surrounding them. Wintergreen skidded into a stop, so that the nose of the car was facing outwards into the only exit. He switched on his high beams, a cover of bright light in which to hide his movement, and waited. Very shortly, three cars turned into the dead end and pulled to a stop, a blue sedan flanked by two smaller cars. Their engines grumbled like pack wolves eager for their next meal.

Wintergreen stoically rolled down his window.

The mob men in the other cars cut their engines and began stepping out. There were seven in total, each armed with at least one gun.

Wintergreen silently reached into the back seat, grasping at a long gun wrapped in cloth. He pulled the fabric away and threw it into the passenger seat, revealing a gray and black, military-issue pump-action shotgun.

Without warning, Wintergreen flung open the door and rolled out, whipping the gun around and, through the open window of his new barrier, shot one of the mob men dead in his tracks.

He drew back the gun, gave it a pump to eject the used shell, and then directed the gun at his next antagonist, steadying the barrel on the window edge. "Stay right where you are, boys," he called to them. "I can do this all day."

The men halted in their steps momentarily, before scrambling backwards, throwing open their car doors and taking cover. Guns were drawn and aimed. Wintergreen sighed.

He picked off the first to peek over the top of his window, making a very clear demonstration of his quality of marksmanship. He ejected the shell with an ominous sound and took aim once more.

Wintergreen ducked behind his car when a barrage of bullets zipped over his head and made a general mess of his door. Luckily, it was a sturdy, mostly bulletproof frame, custom-built and good for cover. He counted the number of shots, and at the first lull in fire sprung to his knees and let off a warning shot before ducking back behind the door.

He heard his shot hit one of the cars, followed by mild cursing.

He then wondered where the Hell Slade was, and if he found this amusing.

Wintergreen hopped up again, took another blind shot, and then slid back down. Another clang, another curse.

As if on cue, there came a horrified scream and then the thunder of gunfire. This was, of course, followed by more screaming, the sound of bodies flying, and then silence.

Wintergreen counted to five, then peeked over the sedan door. He saw Slade standing amid a pile of bodies, and let out a sigh of relief. "Took you long enough," he yelled. "I only had one shot left!"

Slade smiled, the expression obscured by his mask. "You can't tell me you didn't enjoy this."

"Not particularly," Wintergreen retorted, rather angrily. "I left that behind years ago. At this point, I'd take the terror twins over Tombstone any day."

Slade rolled his shoulders, casually stepping over unconscious or dead people, and strode to the car. "It's been a while."

"Not long enough," Wintergreen snorted, starting the sedan. "Now come on, get your seat belt on. The police will be here any minute."

"Unlikely," Slade answered, buckling himself in. "They're still dealing with yesterday's mess."

"Be that as it may, I'd still like to get home now." Wintergreen quickly wrapped the shotgun back in its blanket, then placed it in the backseat once more. He put the car in gear and drove around the carnage. "In one piece, if you'll allow it."

Slade laughed softly, leaning back to enjoy the scenery as the moon peeked out from the clouds above the horizon.

--

The girls, after their silent movie, noticed that the moon was coming out over the bay. Koriand'r pointed and chirped excitedly, pulling at Terra every time they passed by a window. Eventually, Terra caved and directed her to one of the windows in the guest room on the second floor. It was directly near to a trellis, which stretched from ground level all the way to the roof, providing easy access to both escape and stargazing.

Koriand'r, of course, didn't need to climb. She leaped right out the window and floated up to the roof, taking a seat at the far edge that offered the best view of the water.

With a groan, Terra made the difficult decision to go ahead and join her. She slipped out the window and grappled with the ivy-covered trellis; the grip with her toes was painful and unsteady, but she pressed upwards and eventually clambered over the gutters and onto the roof. She panted, sitting on her knees, and gazed across the gables to where the alien girl sat.

She half-crawled to Koriand'r, who let out a sad sigh. Terra blinked, leaning her weight to one side and set her heels so that she didn't slide. "Hey, Kory," she said, after a moment.

The alien's glowing emerald eyes swept from the stars to Terra's face. She murmured a greeting in her native tongue, quiet and bittersweet, before her stare returned to the sky.

"Guess you wanna go home, huh?" Terra placed a hand over Koriand'r's.

"_Home_," the alien repeated, with another mournful sigh. Her hand closed around Terra's, seeking solace.

Terra wasn't sure if the girl actually knew the word, or if she was parroting at random. "Yeah... home. Why don't you just fly back, huh? I mean, that's how you got here in the first place. Can't be _that_ hard, right?"

Koriand'r glanced at Terra, considering her kind expression, and sadly shook her head. She spoke, the harsh words softened by her tone, though Terra only understood that the answer was probably "_no_."

"Oh," said the blonde, when the alien went silent again. "Sorry. I mean... I guess I know how ya feel? I can't exactly go home, either."

Terra didn't meet her gaze this time, instead staring off at the moon's reflection on the bay. Koriand'r murmured a comforting sound, as though to ask why.

Terra dropped her gaze to stare at her feet, and she seemed somehow detached from her words. "I did some... bad stuff. A lotta people died cuz'a me. So I had to leave." The alien blinked thoughtfully at her, as though she comprehended, and squeezed her hand. Terra smiled a little, chuckling. "S'not so bad, really. Slade's a great guy. He'll take good care'a you. I mean, if you're gonna stay, that is. Pretty sure Slade wants you to, but he'll probably say it's up to you. You gonna stay, Kory?"

Koriand'r seemed interested at the mention of Slade and nodded emphatically. The blonde's tone was enamored enough with the name that Koriand'r had to agree with it.

"It's pretty great here, actually," Terra continued excitedly, "I got all the things I ever wanted, y'know? And, and Wintergreen is here a lotta the time, but that's okay 'cause he's a pretty okay guy most of the time, too. He cooks and cleans and stuff. I guess he's our butler, or something." Terra paused to think about it. She realized she wasn't entirely sure of Wintergreen's primary function outside of doing the laundry. "But yeah."

Her exposition ended there, and Koriand'r looked at her oddly.

"...What?" asked Terra, noticing the look.

Koriand'r had the feeling that Terra was intentionally leaving something out, but had no way to communicate it.

Terra laughed, after a moment. "Okay, whatever," she said, brushing off the alien's pointed expression. She turned to look at the sky instead, identifying the major constellations in her head.

Seeing that Terra had dropped out of her talkative mood, Koriand'r stared skyward as well. She pondered the bright stars and the strange constellations, acutely aware of where she was not. The sky here was beautiful, but it was no Tamaran.

"Hey..." whispered Terra, breaking the silence. "Thanks. For listening, I mean. I know you can't understand or whatever, but it's nice you tried."

In reply, the alien simply pulled Terra into a warm hug. The earthmover laughed and returned the gesture.

After a moment, however, Terra realized the alien wouldn't let go. She began finding it hard to breathe.

"Uhm," she squirmed, attempting to tap out. "Okay, um... Okay. This is getting kind'a gay. Kory?"

Reluctantly, Koriand'r released Terra from her grip. The blonde rubbed at her ribs. "_Ow_... geez."

--

Slade contemplated the entwined pair stargazing on his roof. Wintergreen stepped out of the car, locking it with the press of a button, and took note of Slade's focus.

"They've gotten to be quite the bosom buddies, eh?"

"Yes," said Slade quietly.

Wintergreen frowned at that. It meant Slade was planning something and, as a general rule, most of his plans ended in ruin for one party or another. It would be unfortunate for those two to be separated, or worse, so soon after finding one another.

"Don't," he told Slade, very simply, with a hint of sadness.

"Why, Wintergreen," smiled Slade, his eye glinting like ice in the moonlight. "Whatever do you mean?"

* * *

**A/N:** Wow, that Slade scene went from mildly amusing to Showdown at the OK Corral, didn't it? Slade is your huckleberry for sure. Next time: training montages! Our anti-heroes also learn that unfortunate actions have unfortunate consequences.


	4. Little Girls

**A/N:** This fic is half "my desire to write Starfire/Slade/Terra triangle subtext in the form of psychological abuse" and half "Slade's role is an abominable amalgamation of Fagin, Sykes and Daddy Warbucks THATIS_AWESOME_IMUSTWRITEIT."

**Disclaimer?:** I do not claim to own Teen Titans, Oliver Twist, or Annie the Musical, and I make no profit off of this abomination of literature.

**Summary?:** Starfire of Tamaran, newly arrived on Earth, must face the tribulations of finding one's place in a strange world, with Slade's den of thieves as her only guide.

**Notes:** Starfire's canon real name: Koriand'r. Yes, I'm going to keep saying it. I am going to say it until it is burned into the backs of your eyelids.

**Chapter Trivia:** I ran myself stupid trying to get an eight-minute mile. For _you_. It happened _once_, out of… I don't know, a total of thirty or so runs. (In my defense, I was sick for most of them.) Most days, I can finish a mile in around ten minutes if I take care not to have a heart attack.

Also, Food Network doesn't have any programming on at six, so Emeril _actually_ shows at nine or ten. I just _really_ wanted to write that little paragraph. Creative license, my bad.

* * *

**A Day Away**

by: Griffinmon

**Chapter Four: Little Girls**

_Tomorrow morning it begins,__  
You're with a man who always wins.  
__Trust him and he'll prove  
Mountains easily move!  
_  
-- Annie (You Won't Be An Orphan For Long)

---

At exactly five the next morning, Slade Wilson approached Terra's bedroom door and knocked loudly, dressed in a white shirt, black track pants and trainers. He counted off ten seconds, then entered her room. Terra had a terrible habit of never locking her door, but for the sake of convenience Slade let it slide.

With the light cast into her room from the hall, he could see that the earthmover was wrapped up in her sand-colored sheets, with a tan alien snuggled next to her. It was a disgustingly sweet picture, and Slade was only very slightly sorry that it would have to end.

"_Terra_," he barked, in his authoritarian voice, "Rise and shine."

The alien sat up abruptly, caught off guard. Her hands flared with emerald energy, but it faded when she realized that it was not an enemy who had roused her. "Slade!" she said sleepily.

"Good morning, Koriand'r," said Slade sweetly.

"_Good_ _Moor-ning_," she parroted, rising from the bed. She floated over to him, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him close.

Slade gently patted her on the back. "Good girl," he murmured. She hung onto him for a good long while, which he patiently endured. She released him with a smile, then looked to Terra, who had not stirred an inch and was in fact still snoring. She then tilted her head curiously at Slade.

"Well, _wake_ her," he said, gesturing at the earthmover. "It's time to get up. We have work to do."

Koriand'r furrowed her brows at Terra's sleeping form, contemplating first the Okaarin grinkops, and then how Terra might react. With the decision sparkling in her mischievous emerald eyes, she grabbed the sheet Terra had wrapped herself in, and pulled it clear off both the bed and the earthmover with a single tug. Terra spun, bounced and tumbled off her bed, yelped when she hit the floor, and for a moment thrashed about like a fish on dry land. The rocks in the room twitched in response to her distress, hovering a scant few centimeters above the floor.

"Oh, come now," said Slade dryly, noting her ridiculous reaction with a stony expression, "Have more dignity than that."

Terra froze immediately, her blue eyes wide. The rocks clattered harmlessly to the ground. "Slade?" she gulped, her voice cracking as her dry throat hit a nervous high note. She hurriedly picked herself up and tried to smooth out her wrinkled pajamas, gathering together whatever fragments of dignity were left.

"Good morning, my dear," he said genially, "Did you sleep well?" His voice had a sly undertone that implied there would be consequences if her answer didn't match the one he'd already predetermined.

Terra picked up on it just in time. "N-uh, yeah. Sure, yeah. Great," she answered, though it was a lie and she knew he could tell that it was. She and Koriand'r had stayed up late stargazing, and Terra was unused to having someone share her bed. It was crowded and overly warm, and the alien smelled like something the dog dragged in, and liked to cuddle _way_ too much for Terra's comfort. To make sure Slade didn't ask a follow-up question, she quickly tottered over to pick some clothes up off the floor. Koriand'r followed, mimicking her actions and helping with the clean-up.

"Quite a pair," Slade commented quietly, "The both of you."

"_Tch_," Terra snorted, suddenly defensive, clutching at a pile of clothes. "S-s'not like that. She's just... all _clingy_ and stuff."

Koriand'r glanced at Terra with questioning eyes, blinking confusedly. The earthmover's tone had become awfully hostile just then. What was that about?

"I see," said Slade very carefully. He would leave it at that for now. "Are you ready for training, my dear?"

Terra relaxed a little, throwing the dirty clothes into her closet. She took a deep breath before turning back with a confident nod. "Well _yeah_. I live for that stuff, ya know?"

"Of course," Slade smiled. His teeth were as white as his hair. "I'll see the both of you at the door in ten."

With that, the older man turned to take his leave from Terra's room, shutting the door behind himself. Terra stood still for a moment, as though struck by something. Koriand'r peered at her, still bewildered.

"S'nothin'," she absently answered the alien's chirps of concern, staring at the door. "Just... nothin'."

Koriand'r shifted the clothes she was carrying into one arm, so that she could place her other on Terra's shoulder. The earthmover shrugged it off violently, glaring at the alien through angry, teary blue eyes. "Don't _touch_ me, okay. Just... just _don't_."

The red head took a step back, surprised, if not altogether shocked. "Terra?" she whispered. What had happened? Had there been a misunderstanding? Had she done something to upset her?

Koriand'r carefully set down the clothes, in case they had been one of the reasons for upsetting Terra. The earthmover had snapped at her before for something similar; it wasn't so farfetched that she'd do so again.

"Stupid," the girl muttered darkly, as she continued picking up shirts and socks from her floor and roughly throwing them into the closet. "I don't need you. I don't need your help or your stupid hugs or your goddamn sympathy."

Koriand'r shifted uncertainly, brows furrowing as her mouth creased into a deliberate frown. "_Terra_," she said sharply, and then added another few words in her native tongue.

Terra paused in her work to turn and stare at the alien. Her voice was bitter. "I dunno what you just said, but I'm gonna pretend it was you sayin' sorry."

Koriand'r glared, and barked a harsh retort. She wagged her finger at Terra in such a way that suggested it was a warning, almost parental in the way that it was delivered.

Terra snorted, resentful, throwing down most of her clothes, taking with her only the ones she planned to wear today. She stalked into the bathroom to change and made sure the door slammed behind her. Koriand'r glowered after her, suppressing the vague quiver that had begun in her bottom lip. Instead, she crossed her arms and steeled herself mentally. Terra was upset, and that was fine. It was none of her business why the earthmover was hostile and bitter and mean at the drop of a Gordanian _knor_, even though Koriand'r was being perfectly kind and civil and had only meant to help!

She kicked a shirt, sending it sailing onto the bed.

A tap on the door made Koriand'r round viciously on the caller, teeth bared.

Wintergreen lifted his free hand, not terribly surprised. "Ah, I see you're up, Miss… uh… Alien."

Koriand'r relaxed visibly, her expression an angry gripe. "_Ween-ta-green_," she said in greeting.

"Yes," replied Wintergreen gently, still wary. "Well, Slade thought I ought to bring you these…" With one hand still raised in peace, he offered a neatly folded stack of clothes to the red head. Koriand'r stared at them for a moment, not moving to accept them. Wintergreen raised his eyebrows. "Are you awake?"

Koriand'r examined his face, as though trying to determine something.

"Ah," Wintergreen sighed, and smiled, offering her the clothes again with both hands. "For you."

This time Koriand'r took the gift, her thin eyebrows quirked ponderously as she examined the shirt, track pants and running shoes. Wintergreen smiled again when she shot him a look, and he was surprised to see a sort of excitement bubbling up from her. He took it to mean that she understood---

Koriand'r tossed the clothes onto Terra's bed and hurriedly began stripping off her own.

Wintergreen shielded his eyes and quickly backed out of the room, closing the door behind himself. He let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead. "Right _in front of_—oh, what's this world coming to?" he muttered, heading for the stairs.

"Hey, I thought I heard Winter—" When Terra emerged, dressed for exercise in all black, from her private bathroom, she found Koriand'r sitting on the floor, half-way out of her boots and completely rid of everything else. She threw up her hands to cover her eyes, yelling, "AGH! What do you think you're doing?!"

If Terra had been looking, she would have seen the alien girl blinking at her in confusion.

Terra peeked to see if the girl had moved, and she had. She was now _standing_ naked, save for the one boot. Terra immediately covered her eyes again and turned her back to the girl. "Jesus, Kory, put on some friggin' clothes!"

"_Terra_," sniffed Koriand'r snootily, turning up her nose as she swayed over to the bed, picking up her new clothes and slowly pulling them on.

"_What_," snapped Terra in reply. "Seriously, put some pants on. We're not on Mars, you can't do that here." There was a small pause before she added, "Unless you're, like, on the right beach." Terra turned her head slightly, still not looking, to listen for the rustling of clothing. "You got pants on yet?"

"_Pants_," mimicked Koriand'r.

"Yeah," muttered Terra, as she turned to peek through her fingers. She saw that the alien did indeed have pants on, and a shirt too. Koriand'r was currently fiddling with the laces on her track shoes. Terra gave a whistle. "What d'you know! You look almost human."

Koriand'r eyed Terra angrily, snubbing her with a sharp turn of her head and a _"hmph"_ sound.

Terra furrowed her brows and glared at the alien, suddenly remembering that she was supposed to be mad at her. "Fine! Be that way." The earthmover turned to stalk from her room, but found herself in severe pain as her injured feet quickly reminded her of that as well. Terra hobbled noisily out, slamming the door behind herself. Before she could take more than a few steps, the door _bang_ed and shook again, making Terra jump.

The wood of the door was dented and cracked where something hard had hit it from within. Terra glared furiously, and continued painfully down the stairs.

"Good morning, cadet," greeted Slade, his smile handsome as ever. He was waiting at ease at the front door, his hands clasped behind his back and his broad chest out.

Terra grasped the stair rail and forced a smile. "M-morning, sir."

"Wherever is your friend?" asked Slade gently, his forehead wrinkling in a façade of worry.

Terra dug her nails into the wood, her teeth clenched. "She's _not my fr_—"

"Slade!" Koriand'r's voice rang from the top of the stairs, cutting Terra off, who swiveled to glower at her. Koriand'r, ignoring the earthmover, hopped over the railing and floated down to the ground, where she immediately ran to Slade.

Slade raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but motioned for silence. "Very good, we're all here. Now Terra, this will be the first time you'll have a partner. I suggest you make the most of it." He then turned to regard Koriand'r alone. "You, Terra, and I are going outside to train. I hope you'll grace us with some fighting maneuvers from your planet."

"She can't even understand you," Terra snapped, lurching moodily from the bottom stair, not having moved at all for fear of more steps bringing forth unwanted tears.

Slade chuckled, "Terra, she may not understand our language, but she is perfectly capable of reading your body."

"Creepy," muttered Terra.

"Not at all; she's quite intelligent." At this, he turned an admiring look to Koriand'r, who blushed and smiled sweetly in return. "You see, my dear? She can read my tone of voice, my expressions. After today, we'll see if we can't get her started on a crash course in the English language. I imagine she'll pick it up _beautifully_." He breathed the last word, his eye trained on the red head.

Without warning, Koriand'r darted forward to snatch a kiss. Terra charged forward with an angry yell, but ground to a stop, finding her defense completely unnecessary, as Slade had already blocked the girl from making contact. His hand was pressed to her mouth, and she was pouting at him from behind it.

Slade turned a sly glance at Terra. "Whatever was that about?"

Terra could feel her cheeks burning red. "I thought she was gonna, like… steal your breath."

"Steal my breath?" Slade repeated, amused. "That's a new one."

---

Terra grumbled and muttered about how freakin' cold it was outside, her face still red with embarrassment as she alternately stalked and stumbled across the Wilson mansion lawn. Koriand'r floated nearest to Slade, perhaps to benefit from whatever body heat he gave off, who led them around the house and through a fence gate hidden by tall hedge bushes, while Terra trailed miserably in the rear. The back lawn was a sprawling couple of acres of land upon which Slade had built a jogging track: an oval footpath measuring a quarter-mile in length, paved with fine red gravel.

Slade never had any visitors, so the track was never really questioned.

The older man produced a stop watch from his pocket, and looked first to a frazzled Terra. "Shall we show our guest how it's done?"

The earthmover shook off the scowl and replaced it with yet another forced smile. "Uh, you know, maybe you, uh… maybe _you_ ought'a show her first."

Slade raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking in a sardonic smile. "Oh? Why is that?"

"Well," Terra swayed on her feet, grimacing. "Well, I kind'a… y'know, my feet still hurt."

Slade calmly looked Terra up and down. "You're standing, aren't you?"

"Well… yeah…" she put her hands behind her back, holding on hard to her own fingers. This was already going downhill.

"If you had a problem with your feet, you should have told me earlier," Slade announced, with an expression that was cold and detached. "And since you found it easy enough to climb the lattice last night, I must assume it should be easy enough for you to run a few laps."

Terra winced visibly, though not from pain. Of _course_ he knew about that. Slade knew about _everything_ she did… _especially_ all the things that could get her in trouble.

"Now Terra, what do you say? Care to show our guest how this works?" He smiled at her in a way that was nice enough, but the ice in his eye said his patience was beginning to run low.

Terra nodded solemnly, no longer meeting his gaze. "Yes, sir. How far, sir?"

"One mile," he answered promptly. "And I want it in… eight minutes."

Terra snapped a look of shock up towards her mentor. "_What_?! I can't—not like _this_!" She lifted a foot and pointed accusingly at it.

Slade didn't lift his eye from his stop watch. "Seven minutes and fifty-five seconds."

"Th-that's not fair! I'm not even on the--"

"Seven minutes and forty-seven seconds."

With a look of horror, Terra shut her mouth and took off for the track, letting out a long wail as she began putting a great deal of unwanted force on her injuries. She barreled through the flare of pain that started in her feet and made its way up through her legs, a fire that threatened to drag her down with every step.

A small smile, one of pride, snuck across Slade's stern face. Without a word, he started the stop watch once Terra was properly on the track. "Eight minutes," he said aloud to Koriand'r, who eyed him with a strange look of confusion and concern.

At the three minute mark, Terra was just finishing her first lap, her first quarter-mile. Slade shook his head slowly as the seconds rapidly ticked by and Terra continued to lose momentum. By the end of the third lap, she was wheezing and the intended eight minutes had turned into nine and a half.

Slade didn't move to stop her. "Time is almost up, Terra," he called as she passed by. As though whipped into motion, she gained a burst of speed, charging down the remaining quarter mile as though the hounds of hell were in pursuit.

Mere yards from the finish line Terra tripped and collapsed in a tumbling heap of girl and gravel, as though the hounds had actually won. Her face was slick with sweat and the red dust of the track stuck to her. Koriand'r jumped forward, but Slade held out an arm to block her. The alien glared at him, barking her strange and sharp-edged words.

"She has to do this on her own," said Slade, watching Terra with a single cool eye. "Eleven minutes and counting, Terra," he called from the sidelines.

Terra turned her head towards Slade, but didn't open her tightly-clenched eyes. She was breathing in ragged gasps. "I… I c-… can't…"

"Get up," he said simply. He could see her back heaving; she shook her head jerkily. "Get _up_, Terra." His voice was harsher this time. He saw her twitch and cough and wheeze, but nothing more. "GET UP!" he bellowed. Koriand'r stumbled back, unprepared for the ferocity in his shift.

Terra moved a hand, flopped it uselessly in front of her. "C-… S-Slade…"

Koriand'r moved to push Slade from her path, but before she could do so, he moved towards Terra first. He strode over to the earthmover, grabbed her by the back of the shirt, and hauled her to her feet. She cried out as her knees buckled, nearly sending her sprawling again. Only Slade's hand grasping her forearm kept her from falling. "GO!" he roared.

Unsteadily, Terra took a step forward. Slade kept a hold of her until he was sure she wouldn't end up on the ground again. As she reached the finish line, Slade released her and clicked the stop watch, scanning the numbers dispassionately. "Thirteen minutes and forty-six seconds. Keep walking."

Terra groaned and continued forward with a shambling and heavy-footed gait.

"Don't give me that look," Slade intoned to the alien girl. He did not have to see Koriand'r to know that she was glaring daggers at him. "This is for her own good."

Terra was two-thirds around the track when Slade pulled a silver whistle from his pocket and blew it. From across the field, Terra snapped to attention and stepped off the track and back across the grass to the starting line. Koriand'r stared at him with wide eyes, intrigued by this new, music-making tool that apparently contained the power to give remote commands.

Terra's breathing was back to normal when she reached Slade again. Her eyes were dull and tired, and her face and clothes were smudged with red sand. "Can I go die now?"

Slade sighed. "No," he told her firmly, "But you may have a seat and rest while Koriand'r runs her laps."

Terra did just that; she hobbled over to Slade's side and plopped down in the grass, her legs extended out in front of her.

"An excellent idea, Terra," Slade congratulated, "Keep warm."

Terra let out a sigh and began to stretch, reaching for her toes.

Slade looked to Koriand'r. "Your turn, my dear," he smiled, gesturing to the track.

Koriand'r expressed a look of puzzlement; Slade enunciated with his hands, swinging his index and middle fingers in a signal that indicated running, and then traced a circle in the air four times. Koriand'r raised an eyebrow at him, as though offended that he'd thought she needed such elaborate translation.

Slade chuckled, nodding, as he waved her to the track. He held up the stop watch, "Eight minutes."

Terra snorted derisively as she folded in a leg to stretch her hamstring.

Koriand'r pointed at herself, then at the track, verifying the general idea of Slade's request. Slade nodded affirmatively. Koriand'r glanced at Terra almost sympathetically, but seeing as the earthmover was determined to avoid her best wishes, this expression burned quickly back into stubborn aversion. She nodded once at Slade and made her way onto the track.

"Eight minutes," repeated Slade aloud, holding up the watch, "Beginning now." The moment he started the counter, the alien girl broke into a run. Her long legs took her swiftly around the track, and her brute strength propelled her like a bird in flight. She cleared her first quarter-mile in two minutes flat and did not seem to lose speed as she rounded her next lap.

"_Tch_," growled Terra from in the middle of a butterfly stretch, "She's using her flying thing."

Slade squinted in light of the rising sun. "I don't think she is," he murmured.

Terra paused, tugging at the edge of one of her socks. "Uh."

"What is it?" asked Slade, his eye trained on the fire-headed girl barreling around the field.

"I think I'm bleeding," she answered as she untied her shoes to examine further. She ground her teeth as she pulled off a sneaker and peered into it. "Yup," the earthmover confirmed and held up the shoe to show her mentor the blood-stained soles, "I'm bleeding."

Koriand'r swept by, and Slade checked his watch. "Four minutes and forty-one seconds," he announced.

"No, it's cool," Terra muttered in a sarcastic voice, dropping her shoe to the side. "I don't have to go to a doctor, or anything. I'll just sit here in the dirt and, like, bleed out. Maybe I'll get a staph infection; _that'd_ be fun."

"If you are so concerned for your health, Terra," Slade informed her, in a slow and almost patronizing voice, "You shouldn't have come running."

Terra turned an indignant look to the older man. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind."

"Go to the clinic, Terra. Wintergreen will take care of it for you."

The younger girl's expression twisted into a scowl. "What about _you_?" she asked sharply.

"I suppose I'll have to fill in as Koriand'r's sparring partner," Slade answered coolly, his eye still on the time, "Since you'll be in the clinic."

"Hell no!" Terra snapped, grabbing her shoe and stuffing it back on her foot. "I'm _fine_."

"Oh?" Slade finally glanced down, a vague smile on his face. "I thought you said you were bleeding out."

"I was just, like, exaggerating," she protested, "I'm fine. In fact, I'm better than fine! I can take her, no problem."

Slade met Terra's determined gaze. "If you think you're up to the challenge, my dear."

"Challenge nothing, this'll be easy." Terra huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and grinning cockily. "I can move mountains, like, _literally_. And she can what, fly? Act like a crazy person? She's got nothing on me."

"You may be able to move mountains," Slade checked the time as Koriand'r zipped by for a third time, "Six minutes, fifty-eight seconds—but it would seem that she will actually complete a mile in less than eight minutes."

"That's not that impressive," Terra sulked. "I could do that before I got injured."

There were also the energy blasts to consider, he thought. Did she even know about those? Instead of voicing it, Slade merely smiled and reached over to pat her gently on the head. "That's true, you could. You worked very hard for it."

Terra went quiet, smirking as she enjoyed Slade's praise and ignored the subtle shot of criticism.

Slade let out a disappointed sigh. "So close," he muttered, the stop watch in his hand. Koriand'r crossed the proverbial finish line seconds later, slowing to a walk. "Eight minutes and thirty-five seconds."

The alien nearly skipped to Slade, beaming. She didn't look particularly put out; her breathing seemed normal. It seemed she had a great deal of energy to spare. He smiled and congratulated her on a good run, showing her the time. "Eight minute," she parroted, scrutinizing the tiny LCD screen.

When she started pressing buttons at random, Slade figured it was time to move on. He pulled the watch from her hands with a wry smile, "Come now, Koriand'r."

"Eight minute Slade," she said back at him.

"Terra," the older man called, "On your feet."

"Easy for you to say," Terra grumbled under her breath. She pulled herself upright and found herself right on the verge of tears. "I- I'm fine-!" she whimpered, so that Slade might keep his sarcasm to himself, "I'm… it's fine."

"If you're absolutely _sure_," Slade pried.

"_Yes_," snapped Terra, her face resolute.

"Very well," he shrugged, and gestured to the red-head. "Koriand'r, come here. Terra and you," he gestured smoothly as he spoke, punching the air with his fists, "Will have a sparring match."

The alien girl seemed to consider this, glancing at the wounded Terra with concern. She took note of the girl's willingness to continue to fight, and met Slade's eye, shaking her head. No, her movement said, this would not be a fair fight.

Slade drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Well, that's unfortunate," he murmured to the Koriand'r, looking over to Terra as he quietly walked away. The earthmover was shaking with a barely controlled fury. "The decision was not for you to make."

Terra let out a yell, raising her hands and tearing massive boulders from the ground she stood upon. Her blue eyes faded in a flash of yellow as she swung her hands forward, sending the rocks hurtling towards Koriand'r.

---

Sylvia D'Amico tapped her high-heels anxiously on the decadent blue carpet of her condo as she waited for someone to show. She honestly wasn't sure of what to expect, seeing as she'd never had to _do_ this sort of thing before. This was generally the sort of thing Alonzo took care of with a few choice words to some minion or another.

"Where are they?" she hissed, beginning to pace back and forth from the window to the coffee table in the living room, checking her delicate, silver wrist watch every few seconds. "They're _late_."

Standing by the couch was a large man in a nice suit that looked like he could've been a prize pugilist. He had a swollen eye and a frown was set deep into his scarred face. "They'll be here," he answered her curtly.

"They are _late_, James," she snapped back. "I said to meet me at six, and it is _six-oh-three_. They are _late_."

"Yes, ma'am," James replied with a nod.

As though on cue, the television screen flicked on. It appeared that the morning news crew was as chipper as ever to deliver the latest in Jump City's breaking news. Police and scientists alike are baffled as to what made the crater earlier in the week, and are still searching for an explanation as to the mysterious Lizard Man invasion and the subsequent explosion in the sky; in other news, alleged mob don Alonzo D'Amico's murderer has yet to be found and now for the weather---

"_James_," Sylvia berated, sounding terribly put upon.

"Y-yes, ma'am," James fumbled around the couch to grab for the remote, a device he certainly had not touched.

Before he could even pick up the remote, the television switched channels. A plump, friendly looking Chef Emeril beamed into the camera, kicking up notches and tossing pre-measured spices and ingredients into his first recipe of the day. BAM!

"James!" Sylvia barked, stalking to him from the window, "Turn that off!"

James pointed the remote at the television and pressed the power button. Nothing happened. Or, something _did_ happen, though it was awfully unintended: the channel changed again and the volume increased.

A distressed-looking pelican in a silly hat flitted across the screen, in perpetual rhyming search of a lost hippopotamus in a diaper. Oh dear, oh me, oh mercy, oh goodness no! Wherefore have you gone, my little hippo?

"James, if you do not shut that—"

"I can't," he interrupted, jabbing the buttons with thick fingers. "The remote doesn't work."

"Then go over to the TV and _shut it off yourself_," she commanded, and then muttered about the ridiculousness of the situation and how hard it was finding good help underneath her breath.

James blinked as the obvious answer dawned on him. "Oh. Right."

The channel changed again; this time a stately older woman with white hair pulled back in a tight bun and wearing a black turtleneck gazed into the camera. "Do not touch that dial, Mister James," she said in a refined voice. It sounded as though she had the remnants of a diluted English accent, just enough of one to make her seem that much more-sophisticated-than-thou.

James paused, in the middle of reaching for the power button. He looked as though he were trying to decide whether or not it was coincidence or if the television was actually talking to him.

"Thank you, Mister James," the woman continued, "Please step away from the screen. Miss D'Amico, if you'll step forward, we can begin."

Sylvia D'Amico looked shocked for a moment as she moved towards the television, pushing a bewildered James to the side. Her pretty face was tense with burgeoning excitement, an expression that bordered on madness. "Are you from HIVE Academy?"

"You may refer to me as Headmistress," the woman gave a curt nod. "Now, Miss D'Amico, the HIVE does not normally send teams to undertake petty thievery and as you know, we are not an organization that participates in committing assassination," she began, her blue eyes gleaming, "However, your mention of the man known as Deathstroke as greatly piqued our interest."

---

Koriand'r stood over Terra, her emerald eyes bright with concern. "Terra?" she asked tentatively. _Are you well?_ she asked next, in Tamaranian.

Terra twitched from her position face-first on the ground. The field looked as though a team of bulldozers and rabid meteors had run rampant across it, with broken chunks of boulder lying scattered in fans and the ground bearing wide circles of scorch marks. The field smelled of burning grass and smoke faded into the dimly orange sky, trailing up from what was once Slade Wilson's backyard.

The blonde earthmover shifted, rolled onto her side, and glared at Slade, who lingered on the sidelines determining how many landscapers he would have to acquire to fix this mess. "Why didn't you tell me she could shoot fire out of her hands?!"

"We often don't know the strengths of our opponents when we first meet them," The older man chuckled, moving forward to Terra's side. "I thought it would be best for you to learn that on your own."

Terra thumped a fist on the ground, venting her unfortunate temper. Her voice was strained and edged with tears. "Yeah. Great. Are you happy now? She kicked my ass."

"Then I'd say you learned something," Slade concluded, stooping to pick up the earthmover.

"Y-yeah," Terra flushed red, quickly becoming tongue-tied as her mentor cradled her in his arms and began walking back towards the house.

Koriand'r followed close behind, rather stoically. She pondered Terra's condition and if she'd been too hard on her. It was only a natural progression: if you are stupid enough to attack a warrior, the warrior will defend themselves. Although… Koriand'r imagined that if Terra had been at full health, they would've had a better match. The girl was very talented, if a little rash. It was another thing they had in common.

Koriand'r glanced up at the blonde head almost completely obscured behind Slade's large shoulders. Terra leaned back to peek at her, smiling in a most malicious and victorious manner. The alien stared in shock when Terra stuck out her tongue before ducking back behind Slade. Koriand'r couldn't help but glare. The sticking out of tongues was an understood insult among Tamaraneans that had bubbled down from their wars with the Gordanians, who used their tongues to smell; the general, nicer translation was "_you smell unpleasant_."

However, the alien paused, lifted an arm and sniffed. She made a face of disgust and realized that yes, she did indeed smell unpleasant. Mentally, she forgave Terra. After all, one of the many duties of a warrior is to inform their comrade-in-arms of any regrettable odors.

Koriand'r opened the door when they reached the front, receiving a satisfying nod from Slade for her effort (and pronounced scowl from Terra, but this she carefully ignored). He led the way into the library, past the secret panel behind the bookshelf and down the spiral of stairs to his underground lab, with Koriand'r clearing the path for him every step of the way. The clock greeted them with solemn ticks, informing them that it was nearly six-thirty. There in the basement, however, was a door on the other side of the room, near to the cabinets, that Koriand'r hadn't noticed before. Slade motioned towards it, and the alien flew forward, pushing open the cold metal door.

The room was whitewashed and clean, containing a clinical-looking counter with an assortment of medical tools arranged in a line; a steel examining table sat in the center of the room, sterile and covered with a thin sheet of crinkly paper. The overhead light was blindingly bright and cast the room in a stark, detached glow. It smelled chemical and unfriendly.

Koriand'r leapt back from the room with a shout, her hands flaring with emerald energy. She whirled to face Slade with wild eyes, screaming at him in phobic rage, demanding an explanation, insistent and menacing and completely irrational.

Terra stared open-mouthed as Slade back-pedaled, caught off guard by the alien's severe reaction. He backed into one of the metal work tables behind him, caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place.

Koriand'r growled and raised a fist to fire; Slade put up a hand, jostling Terra, "Wait!"

Koriand'r pointed to the white room and ground out her next few words slowly, enunciating her question carefully in a barely controlled voice. Her hands burned brighter and Slade thought he could feel the temperature of the room rise a few degrees.

Terra glanced at Slade out of the corner of her eye, her expression still very much perturbed. "I don't think she likes the doctor's office."

"Really," he retorted in a calm voice, "Whatever could have given you that idea?"

"Visual cues," she replied in a similar manner, composed. "Um. Is she going to kill us? Because this really isn't how I figured I'd die."

Slade shifted very carefully, to set Terra down on the table, before raising both his hands to the alien as a gesture of peace. "Koriand'r," he said firmly, "Calm down. There's nothing to fear. We are not--"

Koriand'r let out a roar as she lunged forward, bringing a heavy fist down on the metal work table. The steel crumpled like paper beneath her force; Slade swept a squealing Terra back up before she went tumbling into the molten break. He was strong enough to balance her on one arm, leaving the other free to continue his gestural translation. Koriand'r repeated herself in a louder voice, her tone damning and accusatory.

"Koriand'r!" he snapped, his face drawn back in furious desperation.

"Jesus, Slade, she's lost it!" Terra grasped at his shoulder, gripping bunches of his shirt in her hands.

"No," he corrected, though he never took his eyes off the alien while he edged carefully around the table and back towards the stairs. "No, she's being defensive."

"On the _clinic_?" Terra asked, baffled and frightened.

Slade shook his head, backing his way to the exit. "It's not the clinic." He still held up a hand in a motion of peace, and Koriand'r still held up hers in hostility. "It's… _about_ the clinic."

"_About_ the clinic," Terra repeated incredulously. "Like she had a bad experience? On, like, Mars? Because Mars totally has doctors and vaccinations and stuff. 'Cause they found ice."

"We've been over this, Terra, she's not from Mars," Slade amended brusquely as he began to scale the stairs backwards, gradually and cautiously. "Though it _is_ possible she was mistreated somehow. She was a prisoner, if you'll recall."

Koriand'r followed them, herding them upwards and away from the basement lab.

"Um. I don't think you mentioned that before," Terra informed him. "I'm still kind of in the dark about the whole blow-up-the-aliens thing. Not that I mind, it was pretty cool but, you know? I got stabbed and stuff, and it'd be nice to know why."

Slade let out a small sigh. "I will tell you later," he said charily, reaching the top-most step and backing into his library. He briefly contemplated his escape routes, but with Terra in hand like this, it would make them sitting ducks. However, now that they were away from the trigger, it was possible that he could somehow talk the alien down.

Koriand'r reached the door seconds later, looking much less provoked. She paused at the entrance, looking down at her glowing hands with a stony expression. In the split-second before she returned her emerald gaze to Slade and Terra, Slade thought he saw a flicker of something else. Something bitter and questioning.

"Say something," he commanded Terra.

Terra shot him a skeptical look, but obediently untangled a hand from his sleeve and put it up for Koriand'r to see. "Um. Kory, hey. Uh…" she trailed off for a moment, thinking of what to say. "I'm, uh… you know what? I'm sorry. For the way I acted earlier and stuff. If you can find it in your heart to not kill me today, that'd be great."

The alien blinked, her eyes fixing upon her hands once more. This time there was an edge of horror to the look. Slade took note of it, changing his original hypothesis. She had been mistreated by her captors, yes, so could it be possible that – to take it a step further – she had been _experimented on_? It would explain her behavior perfectly.

Slade withheld the smirk as the light faded from the alien's hands, pleased with his foregone conclusion that Terra's strange display of sincerity would strike a chord. Terra, on the other hand, seemed surprised that it had worked at all. When Koriand'r looked up at them again, her eyes were watery and filled with a deep shame. "Terra," she said in a quivering voice. She moved forward, ignoring Slade entirely as she took Terra's hand and held it for several long minutes.

"Um. Thanks?" Terra glanced over to Slade, who watched impassively.

Koriand'r spoke again, perhaps to apologize, or to explain herself. Slade couldn't discern the exact meaning of her dialogue, but knew that in some small way, it confirmed his speculation.

Terra blinked, smiling a little. "Okay. That's nice."

"She's asking forgiveness," Slade translated.

"I figured," Terra replied to him, before forcing a nicer smile. "It's cool, Kory. No problem."

Koriand'r seemed somewhat relieved to hear it, nodding and muttered more in her hard-edged language. When she'd finished her discourse, she squeezed Terra's hand and released her, turning next to Slade. She apologized to him, offering her hands.

Slade reached to accept, and she repeated her long recitation of apology. She looked at him expectantly, with that tinge of fear in her eyes, when she was through.

"Of course I forgive you, Koriand'r," Slade answered warmly.

Koriand'r beamed, finishing up her monologue and giving his hand a squeeze. Slade returned her smile with a charming one of his own, putting a hand to her shoulder.

"Thank you, my dear. That was lovely."

"And awkward," Terra added cheerfully.

Koriand'r seemed to consider Terra thoughtfully. And then she mimicked, "Awk-woord."

Terra barely suppressed the urge to burst into hysterical laughter. Slade kept smiling.

Slade nodded, leading Koriand'r out of the library and into the hall. "Wintergreen!" he called into the empty corridor.

The mustachioed older man seemed to emerge from the darkness. "Yes, Slade?"

"Would you mind drawing a bath for the young lady? She's had an… interesting day."

Wintergreen gave the alien a pleasant smile. "Of course. Right this way, miss," he moved forward with a gesture for her to follow. Koriand'r glanced at Slade curiously, who made a gracious bow, even with Terra in his arms. The earthmover had to hang onto his shoulders to keep herself from tipping over, but she managed to shoot the alien a thumbs-up.

Koriand'r parroted the gesture, at which Terra laughed aloud and saluted with a second thumbs-up. Koriand'r copied her again, holding her hands above her head as she moved backwards down the corridor, following Wintergreen.

When Koriand'r disappeared from sight, the smiles vanished.

"That was _messed up_," Terra grumbled, leaning on Slade with a tired expression.

---

Sylvia D'Amico smirked as the television flicked back to normal programming already in progress. Emeril presented a delightful looking bread pudding to the camera.

"That was easier than I'd thought it would be," she confessed, looking askew at James, who still stood at attention.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered faithfully.

"Those HIVE students seemed promising," she mused, gliding into the kitchen to pull a bottle of white wine from one of the cabinets. "And that bastard will finally get what's coming to him."

"Yes, ma'am," James replied, following at a distance.

She raised an eyebrow at her bodyguard. "Do you think I'm vindictive, James?"

"Ye—" James stopped himself. "No, ma'am."

Sylvia laughed, a sound like the ring of a silver bell, as she picked the wine opener from a drawer and proceeded to open her victory bottle. It was perhaps a little early to be celebrating, but when one was as pretty and far-thinking as Sylvia D'Amico, people very rarely argued technicalities.

James, however, was made of denser stuff, and he _almost_ said something.

Sylvia looked up from pouring her glass. Her eyes were sharply intelligent. "Hm?"

James averted his gaze, suddenly finding the wood grain of the floor to be absolutely fascinating.

"Ask your question, James," Sylvia clipped.

James winced, as though struck. "They said, the HIVE, that they didn't do assassinations."

Sylvia raised a thin eyebrow. "Your point?"

James grimaced. Clearly he had already missed it.

Instead of a barrage of sardonic comparisons to things she considered more intelligent than he, Sylvia chuckled. "James, dear, I don't _want_ Deathstroke to die. I want him to suffer." She swirled the wine in her glass, savoring the aroma. "I want him know what it feels like to lose."

"Lose what?" asked James, before realizing he'd spoken out of turn.

Sylvia seemed to humor him. "To _lose_. To lose the game; to find oneself _tapped out_."

James understood that last one. He nodded.

"Our dear Terminator has a fondness for games," she added slyly. "He's quite competitive."

"And he cheats," James added, remembering the fate of poor Vinny.

"Of course!" Sylvia sipped her wine delicately. "He cheats very well, and he makes you like it. You wouldn't even realize what he was doing." Her tone dropped then, harsh and low. "But _I_ know. He cheated my idiot husband out of his money, and I am not going to make the same mistake."

James wasn't sure if he wanted to risk learning more, so he nodded impassively.

"Have they found the briefcase and the Terminator?" she asked him, sipping from her glass with an unreadable expression.

"We tried to trail him in cars after pick-up yesterday, but he turned around and tore up our guys like you wouldn't believe." James told her, his expression stony. "But we got a bead on him with the bug we hid on the money. Our guys are out looking now, so we should have him before noon today." Sylvia's mouth quirked in a way that suggested she didn't quite believe it the way he did.

As though on cue, there came a knock at the door. James glanced over in surprise before Sylvia shot him a glare that reminded him that _he_ was the butler here. The bodyguard quickly made his way to the door, pulling a handgun from his shoulder holster. He pressed the barrel to the door at what would have been eye height for any other man and peeked briefly through the peep hole.

He relaxed at seeing a familiar face, and grasped the doorknob in his immense hand, jerking the door open. The man on Miss D'Amico's condo doorstep was smaller than James, also wearing a black suit that seemed dirty and ruffled. He was carrying a birdcage in one hand.

"Sir," greeted the man.

"Peters," James returned, looked confused. "Did you find the Terminator?"

Peters flinched visibly. "Not quite, no." He held up the cage, to show James the enclosed pigeon. The bird cooed and fluttered, darting its head about excitedly.

"What is that," asked James, in a dull voice.

"We, ah…" Peters shifted his weight, clearly embarrassed. "When we traced the Terminator's signal we, uh… we found this."

James stared at the pigeon. "That's a bird," he said, as though he thought Peters hadn't realized it yet.

"Yes," agreed the smaller man. "It is a bird."

There passed a drawn-out silence between the two, with James glancing between the bird and the man with growing frustration. "_Why_ is there a bird," he said finally.

"Because we… found the bug… _on_ it," Peters answered, in a shrinking voice.

"You _lost_ the briefcase?" James' voice rose sharply, startling the other man and his captured pigeon.

"Well, we—I mean, _he_—We tried to—" Peters stumbled over his excuses, drawing back from D'Amico's giant, gripping the cage in his hands.

"You _lost_ the _briefcase_!" James thundered, ducking to pass through the door and striding towards Peters. "_Get_ _out of my sight_!" Peters let out a girlish squeal and dropped the cage, making a bee-line for the stairs as fast as his shaking legs would take him. James whirled, picked up the cage and returned to the apartment, slamming the door behind him. He set the cage on the nearest table, glowering at the pigeon.

"They lost the Terminator." Sylvia D'Amico smirked from her place on the couch, as though she knew it would happen all along. As though she had _planned_ for it.

"Yes, ma'am," James parroted, his tone and expression sour.

"Not to worry, James," she comforted, downing the remainder of her wine glass. "Before this is over, we will come out on top."

It clicked then, the reason why she had hired the HIVE in the first place. They were going to get her money back, as well as mess with Deathstroke's mind. Alonzo D'Amico had been a necessary sacrifice to get the assassin to take the briefcase.

"You still got a bug," James said suddenly, surprising himself.

"Of course," Sylvia smirked. "In the only place he wouldn't think to look."

James almost smiled, but his brow puckered inquisitively. "Where's that?"

"Himself," she replied smugly. "The devices they make these days are remarkable; as small as dust particles, or blood cells. The case was covered in them; if he touched it, they would have rubbed off and stuck to him. Even if he dumps the briefcase, they're still on that stupid costume of his."

James nodded admiringly, but this too gave way to another unanswered question. "What if he dumps his costume?"

"He wouldn't," Sylvia scoffed, rising from the couch, empty glass in hand. "He's far too conceited."

James didn't look as sure of that answer as he did of the other, but he gave another nod. He was certainly willing to believe her.

---

Slade absently listened to Terra's deluge of complaints as she soaked her feet in an Epsom bath, sitting in a chair in the clinic room. Slade nodded every so often to humor her while he polished the orange and black mask of his iconic costume.

Terra huffed suddenly. "You're not even listening!"

"Mm," replied Slade. "Of course I am. I listen to everything you say."

The earthmover glared down at her pink-tinted water. "Sure. Whatever. You're just--"

"It's been nearly an hour, Terra. Do you feel ready to wrap up?" he asked, interrupting her.

Terra glowered at him, a look Slade pointedly ignored. "Sure. _Whatever_."

"Awkward, _indeed_," muttered Wintergreen as he strolled down the stairs and over to the open door of the clinic. "That girl has no sense of shame," he said to Slade.

When he looked up from his work, Slade saw that Wintergreen was serious-faced, and the entire front of his shirt was soaking. "Shame?" he repeated, his eyebrows perked with mild interest.

"I drew the bath, as you asked, and I was explaining it to her. All of a sudden, she just gets this look about her, and she throws off her clothes and jumps in, with me _standing right there_!" The older man's face was very slightly pink, his morals quite offended at the memory. "And _then_, she smiles at me and says '_awkward_.' No shame! None at all! I left as quickly as my feet would take me."

Terra snickered, receiving a disapproving glare from Wintergreen. Slade chuckled as well. "I see you also got caught in the splash zone."

"Hardly my fault!" snapped Wintergreen, picking at the hem of his wet shirt. "A small warning, or a _thank you but please leave now_ would have been sufficient."

Slade smiled crookedly. "I suppose we'll have to work on that."

Wintergreen frowned. "Joke all you like, but this is unacceptable. She's old enough to be my grand-daughter." He then threw a meaningful glance towards Terra, who was too busy giggling to notice.

Slade's smile didn't fade, but his voice had that slight edge that usually meant he was through talking. "I said we would work on it."

Wintergreen stood quiet for a moment, as though contemplating. With a sigh and without a word, he turned to leave.

Terra sat back in her chair, her expression smug. "Geez, what's _his_ deal?"

Slade glanced over at the blonde earthmover. He knew the answer: Wintergreen was still worried about what he planned to do. "I haven't the foggiest."

Terra snorted derisively. "Tch. Dude doesn't know the half of it. S'not like he has to sleep in the same bed with her." She shot a glare at Slade, "Which sucks, by the way."

Slade seemed to consider that, thoughtful as he went back to examining the lacquer on his mask. "Are you ready to get out?"

Terra blinked, peering down at the water in which her feet were submerged. "Um. Maybe another five minutes?"

---

Koriand'r's bath lasted several hours longer than anyone was really expecting. Wintergreen would later swear that when she finally emerged, in a comfortable white bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, the steam within the room was so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. It was so choking and humid that, not only did he have trouble finding her discarded clothes in the fog, but he could not see the hand in front of his face.

While they waited for the alien, Terra had her feet re-bandaged and took to the weight room with Slade for slightly less painful activities: mostly involving upper-body work and several hundred crunches. When Wintergreen finally managed to convince the alien to put on something _other_ than nearly nothing, preferably involving pants, he led Koriand'r to join them.

Slade greeted the both of them absently, counting off the number of pull-ups Terra could physically complete in one minute. She was nearly to thirty-six, and they were going for a record of forty. To Slade's continuing disappointment, she could only finish thirty-eight-and-a-half. After showing Koriand'r the basics, he discovered she could easily complete forty-three.

This remained a constant pattern throughout the day, with the alien showing up the earthmover in every single exercise Slade could throw at them.

Needless to say, Terra was very unhappy.

Slade ended training early when he came to the realization that Terra had become incapable of relaxing. She had begun to push herself more than necessary which, while useful in moderation, would serve none of his purposes if she were to further injure herself in this feud. He sent them to amuse themselves for the rest of the day, and promptly locked himself within the private gym to work off some steam of his own. He took this time to contemplate various issues, mostly to do with Koriand'r's blossoming devotion and Terra's growing belligerence, and what he was going to do about it.

He made several important decisions while on the treadmill, each more crucial than the last. First on this list was Koriand'r's progress, which he would deal with in the next few days. The less English she knew, the easier it would undoubtedly go.

The next verdict was about D'Amico, which was a situation he knew he would have to face sooner or later. It would be best if he met her on her own ground, _sooner_ rather than later, before things got out of hand.

The final decision he made was for Terra, whom he would deal with tonight.

When night did fall, it found an exhausted Terra and an enthusiastic Koriand'r. Slade came around from the weight room, his body bearing a light sheen of sweat, and discovered the two watching movies in the commons. Koriand'r sat on the floor closest to the television, while Terra kept back as far away from the alien as possible on the couch. She had her feet propped up on a blue ottoman and she seemed to be dozing.

Slade recognized the movie as Charlie Chaplin's _The Kid_. He thought it strangely appropriate for his little strays.

He motioned for Koriand'r's attention, who glared at his interruption. "Lights out," he told her with a serene expression.

She blinked, her anger dissipating immediately in the face of his angelic stoicism. "Slade?" she asked.

He gestured towards the exit. "Lights out," he repeated. "Time for bed."

Koriand'r seemed to contemplate his words, then stood and snuck the remote from beneath a snoring Terra's hand. She successfully hit the pause button, at which Slade smiled and congratulated her. The red-headed girl beamed, her emerald eyes shining.

Slade moved from her to Terra, patting her on the knee. "Terra," he intoned gently. "Lights out."

"Lights out," Koriand'r mimicked. "Terra!"

She was getting very good at that, he noted. His attention fell back onto his earthmover, who stirred at the sound of their voices and the warm hand at her knee.

Terra abruptly sat up with a yell. "Sir, yes sir!"

Koriand'r startled, but quickly laughed at the girl's sudden cry. "Terra," she giggled.

"Sh-shut up-!" Terra barked crossly, sleepy-eyed.

"Now, now, ladies," Slade intervened between them, before the feud could escalate. "To bed with you both."

"I'm not sleepin' with _her_ again," Terra griped, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You won't have to," Slade promised in his silky, devilish voice. "Her room has been prepared."

Terra blinked, looking amazed. "Yeah…?"

"_Yes_," he corrected, and leaned forward to pick her up. Terra dazedly allowed him to lift her in his arms and carry her towards the stairs, like a princess to his castle. Koriand'r followed, as before, with the same thoughtful expression. There was something very private in this gesture, subtly different from before; something very personal about it. She noticed that Terra, unusually quiet, had laid her head against the man's shoulders, with her arms draped around his neck. Like a child, or…

As they reached Terra's room, at the top of the stairs, Slade turned and motioned for Koriand'r to stay right where she was. The alien obeyed, her expression quizzical. What was the meaning of this?

Slade pushed through the open door, and batted it closed again with a foot. Without thinking, Koriand'r put up a hand to stop it before it could snap closed, leaving it open just a crack. She could see Slade set Terra on her bed; she detached from him with clear reluctance, and he pulled the tan covers up to her chest.

"It's been a very long day, hasn't it?"

Terra nodded, her face blank and just slightly bitter.

"Don't be like that," he smiled softly, his tone at once teasing and sincere. "You did very well today."

Her blue eyes met his, imploring his praise. "Really? Even though I got my ass handed to me?"

Slade took a seat on the covers next to her. He raised a hand to her blushing face, to run his fingers down her cheek. "There will be other battles."

Terra took his hand in hers, pressing her face into his calloused palm. Her fingers tightened on his wrist. "I'm a screw-up."

He put both hands to her cheeks, cupping her face tenderly. "What makes you say such a thing?"

"'Cause she's better than me at everything." There were tears collecting in Terra's voice now. "'Cause she's prettier. 'Cause you like her more."

Slade laughed, very softly, very slightly condescending. "That's ridiculous."

Her eyes hardened. "'Cause you didn't think twice about showing her your face, even though it took you months to trust me like that."

Slade's pause was almost perceptible, but he covered it up with a brilliant smile, a practiced expression meant for the earthmover and only her. "Terra," His thumbs wiped at her tears, lightly chiding. "You mean a great deal more to me than you might think. No being alive can change that."

"You promise?" Her eyes were as wide as saucers and as blue as the sky in spring.

"Of course," he told her with a smile. Her nails dug into his skin.

"Do you _promise_?" she demanded, her voice cracking. He could see her bottom lip begin to wibble pathetically.

He gently disengaged her, and smoothed his hands through her long hair, drawing her closer to him. "I promise," he whispered, her white-haired prince, as he bent to kiss her on the forehead. Terra slid from under his lips and clung to him, locking her arms around his torso. He felt her push an ear to his chest, listening for his steady, confident heartbeat.

He sat with her, combing his fingers through her blonde locks, until her arms lost their grip, slipping harmlessly to the side as she fell asleep against him. With an unreadable expression, he eased the girl back into her covers and without a word, rose to take his leave.

Koriand'r leapt back from the door and darted to the end of the hall, to stare fixedly at a yet another strange portrait on the wall. Slade called to her quietly, and Koriand'r turned to greet him with an innocent smile. Slade raised an eyebrow, and instantly Koriand'r knew her cover was blown. He knew that she had been listening.

Slade shook his head, stretching out a hand to take her by the shoulder. He led her back towards Terra's room, but halted at the door just before the earthmover's. He indicated it with a welcoming gesture, and signed that this was where she would sleep.

Koriand'r frowned at the notion, but he insisted. She entered the room, and found that it was very similar to Terra's in layout, but there was a distinct lack of arbitrary objects coating the floor. It felt somewhat lonely with no decoration. Koriand'r took note that the bed was made with white sheets as she went to sit on it, before looking expectantly at Slade.

The older man raised his eyebrow again, and asked what she wanted. Without delay, Koriand'r pointed to her forehead. _I would like a kiss too,_ she seemed to say.

Slade sighed, in a most resigned manner, and strode forward to oblige. Koriand'r closed her eyes and sat up straight, as though bracing herself. Slade was just bending to touch his lips to her forehead when she lunged.

Slade caught her. Again.

And not just _caught_ her, but took her momentum and turned it back on her. He pivoted, one hand to her mouth, the other hooked around her upper arm. She hit the bed with a bounce and a surprised yelp. She righted herself and turned to glare furiously at him through the curtain of tangled hair that had blanketed her face during the throw. This was getting old _fast_.

"Good night, Koriand'r." Slade chuckled and waved as he departed, shutting the door behind himself.

* * *

**A/N:** How_ f#cked up _was_ that_.

Next time: our anti-heroes try to make some money. Will the real heroes unravel Slade's web of deception in time, or will something much more unexpected get in the way?

And yes, this entire fic is an excuse to set up Annie songs as chapter titles, in order to use the song "Little Girls" to make an inappropriate pedo!Slade reference. Insert relevant Oingo Boingo joke here.


	5. Easy Street

**A/N:** This… um. S-subtext? Did I mention I don't actually ship any of this, it just _happened_?

**Disclaimer?:** I do not claim to own Teen Titans, Oliver Twist, Annie the Musical, Charlie Chaplin or Elvis Presley, and I make no profit off of this abomination of literature.

**Summary?:** Starfire of Tamaran, newly arrived on Earth, must face the tribulations of finding one's place in a strange world, with Slade's den of thieves as her only guide.

**Note:** Do not forget, Koriand'r is Starfire's canon real name. How long can I keep saying it? _Just try me._

_

* * *

_

**A Day Away**

By: Griffinmon

"_You looked like an angel,__  
Walked like an angel,__  
Talked like an angel,  
But I got wise.  
You're the devil in disguise.  
You fooled me with your kisses,  
You cheated and you schemed,  
Heaven knows how you lied to me,  
You're not the way you seemed."_

Koriand'r followed the curious music filtering gently from the bottom of the stairs, from one of the front rooms. It was early morning and the sun had just risen above the horizon; the house was still a little dark, though the windows glowed with soft golden light. She floated silently towards the sounds, listening to the unintelligible lyrics, pondering the handsome voice lifting and dodging above and around its backing instrumentation. Earth music was very different from what they had on Tamaran, though Koriand'r had already figured that this would be the case.

She liked it so far, however, even if she couldn't understand a single word of it.

The bottom landing opened into the atrium near the front door; the light streaming through the windows lent the space a heavenly radiance within its high ceiling. She passed through it to the right, through an open doorway that led into a room similar in function to the blue room where she and Terra watched _CHAR-Lee CHAP-Lin_, as Terra had so loudly informed her _multiple_ times, on the recording monitor.

Koriand'r peeked around the edge of the door, even now still wary of what she might find in this little palace. The room was brown and red, with gold accents in the form of intricately-designed light sconces and small trinkets lining the shelves and the desk in the corner. The light in the room was mostly natural, streaming in from the big windows in back, its crimson curtains tied up and out of the way, facing the rising sun coming up over the bay. In the center of this room sat a single large, grand-looking throne. Koriand'r was surprised to see that Slade was there, leaning comfortably in his chair, his feet propped up on a matching stool. He appeared to be reading a large sheet of white paper with Earth writing all over it.

Without looking up, Slade addressed her in his deep, pleasant voice. "_You can come in if you'd like,_ Koriand'r."

She only understood her name, but recognized his tone as an invitation. She moved forward to enter the room properly. She cast her eyes over the walls, taking in the warm colors, feeling the sun on her skin as she neared Slade, who sat with his back to the window. "X'Hal preserve you, Slade," she greeted cheerfully, in her native tongue of Tamaranian.

He looked up from his reading and smiled genially, returning her sentiment with a nod.

"_I thought that I was in heaven,  
But I was sure surprised,  
Heaven help me,  
I didn't see,  
The devil in your eyes._"

Koriand'r moved towards the source of the music, a strange, brown box-like contraption with a spinning disc and a needle on an arm. There were a couple of small holes, covered by a thick, textured cloth, from which, Koriand'r found, the sound emerged. It crackled very softly, beneath the music. She tilted her head in wonder, pondering the mechanics of it. It was clear the needle and the disc were important; it was likely a primitive recording, etched onto the surface of the disc, similar to the way the Tamaraneans once used light spheres and rotating kan'ra to encode messages for warriors during the Battle of Okaara.

"_...Walk like an angel,  
Talk like an angel,  
But I got wise..._"

She reached out a hand, to touch the arm of the box; there was a strange jump and the music began to skip, repeating the same phrase over and over.

"– _devil – devil – devil – devil – devil –_"

A hand reached around her, picked up the needle, and set it back on the disc. The music continued as if nothing had happened.

"_Careful_," Slade said from over her shoulder.

She glanced at him sharply. "It was hardly my fault. Your technology is insufficient."

He merely chuckled, pointing at the box. "_Record player_," he pronounced, slowly enough for her to follow.

"_Record_…" Koriand'r mimicked, turning to regard the machine once more. "_Record player_." She turned look of interest towards him. "You use this primitive device to play music?"

Slade smiled at her question, nodding with a vague amount of uncertainty. There was a small lapse of silence as the song faded and another began. "_I'm afraid that I'm a bit old-fashioned when it comes to my choice of music. Do you like it?_"

Koriand'r blinked at the question in his tone. He indicated the machine, but not directly; his gesture was loose, as though he implied only the sound. After a moment, she knew what he meant and nodded enthusiastically. It was vastly different from the blagnorp-accompanied songs of victory and loss and the glory of X'Hal, but she liked the dipping, lilting, bold quality of it and the bard's voice.

"_Elvis_," Slade added, with a motion.

"_Wise men say only fools rush in,_" the sound of the new song was crooning and slow. Slade tapped the alien girl on the shoulder, offering his hand. Confused, Koriand'r took it, and he pulled her closer, keeping their entwined hands raised and setting his free hand on her waist. He stepped slowly to the side, and again, and turned in a measured circle, dragging the bewildered Koriand'r with him.

"_But I can't help falling in love with you_._  
Shall I stay, would it be a sin?  
If I can't help falling in love with you?_"

Very quickly, Koriand'r picked up his movement, stepping in time with him as he led her across the room, around the chair and desk in a graceful, sweeping arc.

She took note of his angelic expression, his visible eye lidded and lost in the moment; she'd never seen him this way before. He lacked the tenseness he always carried in his shoulders, the coiled feeling of a kirnok ready to spring, and for once she could read his expression. He seemed… content. Unworried. It was very strange to see him with his guard down – or at least _appearing_ to have let his guard down.

The song ended all too quickly. Just as she had begun to enjoy herself, to feel comfortable against him, the _record player_ went quiet, and Slade released her gently.

"_Thank you for the dance, my dear_," he told her, with a bow.

Koriand'r stepped back and mimicked his movement exactly. "Thank yoo for danse," she parroted.

The look on his face was more than worth it.

**Chapter Five: Easy Street**

_"Maybe she holds the key,  
That little lady,  
To gettin' more bucks  
Instead of less.  
Maybe we fix the game  
With something shady,  
Where does that put us?  
Give you one guess!"_  
-- Annie

It was when Terra finally awoke that things got substantially more interesting. Slade made sure Wintergreen had the two dressed and fed before lining them up at the front door; the girls were fitted into matching black and orange uniforms, each with a sharp, identifying 'S' on the breast. Koriand'r seemed less enthused about having to wear _more_ clothes, but acquiesced when mentioned that it was for Slade. He arrived latest, dressed in his own black and orange costume, holding his mask in one hand.

"Good morning, girls," he greeted, with a devilish smile.

"'Morning, sir," Terra responded immediately.

Koriand'r blinked once before echoing, "Moor-ning, Slade."

"You both look ravishing," he began, smoothly. "Black suits you," he added, looking specifically at Koriand'r, who flushed very lightly red at his tone.

Terra glared at her from out of the corner of her eye.

"Now," he continued, "In light of Koriand'r's advanced skill level," at the mention of her name, the alien beamed. Terra frowned. "I have decided that the two of you will be accompanying me on an acquisition."

Terra smirked. "Find somethin' nice, huh?" Slade acknowledged her comment with a frosty look. Terra shrank slightly. "S-sorry, sir."

"We will begin tonight. I have already taken the opportunity to start reconnaissance, so you will know what I know. However," Slade's ice blue eye focused on Terra for a long moment, and she knew this would be her chance. "You will be in charge of actual retrieval."

Terra's eyes shone, and she tried to keep the joy from bubbling up into her expression, struggling to keep a straight face. "_Me_, sir?"

"_Me_," parroted the alien girl, blinking excitedly, looking back and forth between the earth-mover and Slade, trying to decipher what they were talking about.

"Both of you," Slade corrected, with a sly smile, "I expect you to work as a team."

Terra's face fell.

Koriand'r's brows furrowed curiously.

There was virtually no one out on such a cold, blustery night. Upon this high roof, under the dim neon lights of the city night, it was far too dark for anything but shady business. Terra wondered for a moment if Slade had planned it this way – and then corrected herself. He _would_ have planned it this way. It was the way he worked.

Koriand'r, on the other hand, was as pleased as a puppy just to be out and about in the big, wide world; Terra was quite positive the alien had no notion of what was about to go down. Slade probably planned that, too. She wondered how that would work out... but then again, this was her chance to really outshine the alien girl, in an area with which she couldn't _possibly _be familiar.

... Could she?

Terra pondered this uncomfortably as she waited for Slade to give them the signal. The plan was thus: get in, get the thing they came for, and get out before the guards could get wise and sound the alarm. The contingency plan, for if the guards were quicker than anticipated, followed as such: beat the ever-loving snot out of them, grab the thing they came for, and then scatter like leaves on the wind, meeting at a rendezvous point far, far from the target. There were, naturally, three or four or twenty additional plans to cover every conceivable possibility, but usually Slade only ever needed to explain the first two or three. (The third plan actually involved the totally random and completely improbable possibility of third-party interception. But really, how likely was _that_?)

It was a tad unfortunate that they could explain none of these plans to Koriand'r.

Slade gave the signal: a single wave of the hand, illuminated by a backdrop of sinister red light emanating from the glowing Soda Tycoon sign behind him. Terra gave a curt nod to the alien, who threw a glance from Terra to Slade with a sort of curious disdain. Terra clipped a steel lobster hook – connected to a secured drop line – onto her belt, and quietly slipped into their target building's air vent. Koriand'r followed somewhat reluctantly, hovering.

Terra had their designated route through the ducts committed to memory; Slade had insisted on her memorizing the _entire _vent system – every single nook, twist and detour – but she hadn't had the time to do so. Koriand'r couldn't understand what to _do_ with the blueprints once handed them, so he'd exempted her from the exercise altogether.

_Totally unfair_.

Terra mentally grumbled the whole way down the air shaft, throwing a venomous glare every now and then behind her, towards Kory. She could see the alien's eerie glowing green eyes, which cast the duct in a soft emerald light.

"Shut those things off," Terra muttered sharply.

Kory responded with something equally dark-sounding, in a low hiss of a whisper.

Terra ignored it as best she could, but something in the alien's condescending tone just grated on her nerves. Before she could think of something to retort, however, Terra came upon the first turn in their route. With a glare and a quick gesture, Terra unhooked herself from the line and slid onto her belly, starting down the vent at a most literal crawl. The alien's incredulous expression at such a tight crawlspace was well worth it.

They passed by several slated vent openings, which gave them a vague view of the building whose innards they were currently squirming through. Terra could see one or two armed guards pass below the air ducts on their own routes, all wearing Wayne-Tech armor and carrying sleek-looking laser guns. She could hear what sounded like a low growl from behind her – Kory. Terra hoped the alien wouldn't flip out like before; she wanted at least _one_ thing to go right this week, and if it wasn't going to be the heist, then please, please, _please_ let it be avoiding the guards.

Terra found herself lucky as they maneuvered through the duct system, unseen and unheard, into what looked like a common storage room for electronic parts. There were three things she was to retrieve, none of which she'd ever heard of before. Thankfully, Slade had given her a grocery list of sorts, which contained the product numbers for each piece.

She signaled for Kory, behind her, to wait, as she pulled out a portable screwdriver and began to quietly unhinge the closest vent. As she worked, dropping each screw one-by-one into a separate pouch on her belt as she pulled them loose, she took dim note that the temperature in the vent itself had begun to rise. It was subtle at first, but became more readily apparent when a big drop of sweat rolled off her nose. Terra wiped her forehead with a hand, and turned to look back at Kory ---

...who wasn't even _there_.

Terra jerked in surprise, barely keeping her mouth shut as she twisted to see where the alien might have...

In Koriand'r's place, there was a massive hole _melted_ in the bottom of the metal air duct. Terra stared at it for a moment, baffled, though her question as to why the temperature had abruptly risen was now quite sated. A glance out the hole showed that Kory was already strolling – _strolling –_ through the storage facility like she was on a tour of the freakin' Eiffel Tower.

Terra slid out of the duct and hit her feet – then collapsed to the ground shortly thereafter, writhing in pain. _Then_ she remembered that she probably should have used the _other_ rope she'd brought, instead of jumping to the floor on injured feet like a moron.

She thought she saw Koriand'r give her a smug look, just the smallest of insults to add to Terra's ever-growing pile of injury, though it really was quite hard to see through teary eyes.

When Terra could see straight once more, she saw that Koriand'r had extended her golden-skinned hand to her, in some kind of self-righteous play for sympathy or something. Terra shrugged it off with a snort and wobbled to her feet all on her own.

Then, as though the gods loved to see her squirm, Slade's silken voice – as smooth and as dangerous as an icy road – crackled in her ear. "Terra. Are you in?"

Terra touched the pointed 'S' pin on her left breast. "Yeah- er. Yes, sir."

"Good," he purred, "Call me when we're ready for phase two."

Terra nodded, tapping the pin to reply, "Yes, sir."

She gestured for Koriand'r to spread out and search the room, tearing off a piece of the list Slade had given her to give to the alien. Koriand'r seemed to understand, flitting up to check the upper shelves for the machine part Terra had assigned her.

Terra took stock of the lower shelves, and made her way to sift through the hundreds of small, numbered boxes. She managed to get a hang of the storage system, and located one of the parts quickly enough. The second was up a little higher than she could reach.

Koriand'r, hovering just above Terra's head, pulled the box down and handed it to the earthmover without a word. Terra glowered at her, though the alien just rolled her eyes, muttering something or other in her bizarre language, offering the third box without making eye contact. Terra snatched it from her, and slapped the S pin. "Ready-set, sir."

"Excellent," came his melodious reply. "To the races in three, two, one..."

The explosion that followed was sizable, and came from clear across the other side of the facility, near to where they kept the vaults and valuables. They probably wouldn't even notice the small boxes were missing until days or weeks after they finished calculating damages --- if they noticed _at all_. Terra wondered why they even _needed _the big boom if the little things weren't even that important.

Maybe it was one of those "big picture" things she just wasn't seeing. Who could tell with Slade?

Koriand'r, on the other hand, stared wide-eyed towards the direction of the explosion, with the sort of expression on her face that indicated the looming flip-out that Terra had feared. Without a word – rather, it was much more of the _primal scream_ variety – the alien leapt forward into the air and whooshed through the door and down the hall, towards the smoking vaults. Terra stared in horror.

"K- KORY!" Terra screamed, almost tripping over her own feet in her hurry to pursue, fumbling with her stack of boxes.

The gold-skinned alien slammed into Terra, sending the boxes flying and the two girls skidding backwards, back into the storage room and into the wall. The shelves rattled with their impact, a few small boxes dropping to the floor around them.

Terra rubbed her throbbing head, groaning. The alien pushed herself to her knees, clearly dazed, shaking her head as though that might fix it.

"What in the Hell is your problem?" Terra sniped angrily, slapping one of the boxes that had fallen out of her way.

Koriand'r muttered something, glaring at the door, where---

Where three strange people were now standing. So much for improbable plan number three. One of them was quite large in stature, with shoulders as broad as he was tall, and big, burly arms with metal bands around his hulking wrists. He was clothed in black, and had long, red hair brushed back out of his brutish face. He was grinning, perhaps laughing at them. The smallest of the three looked like he'd just gotten out of elementary, with a shaved bald head. He was wearing a pair of black welding goggles with yellow lenses, and a weird jumpsuit with some kind of round metal backpack. He was _most definitely_ laughing at them. The third was of average height, and female, with bright, florescent pink hair styled into strange pig-tails that were more like gravity-defying points. Terra could not even _begin_ to fathom how much hair gel per day that would take to maintain.

Terra quickly got to her feet, and Koriand'r did the same. Before she could even ask the question, the girl of the group raised a hand, in which she held one of the boxes they'd retrieved for Slade. "Looking for this?" With a sly grin, the pink-haired girl – the leader, it seemed – tossed the box over her shoulder, which the big brute caught in one immense hand. "Too bad!"

Terra stared a bit more, still attempting to process exactly _what the heck_ had just happened. "Oh-_kay_…"

"Cat got your tongue, lint-licker?" said the small boy with a malicious smile.

"I – _what_?" Terra stammered, dumbfounded. Koriand'r growled.

"Woah," the pink-haired one snickered, "Better put that one back in her cage. This city's got leash laws, you know."

"Prolly not even house-trained," the big one added, with a deep chuckle.

"Right back at you," Terra quipped to him, earning a blink of confusion. "Okay, so let me get this straight." She met eyes with the lead girl, "You followed the explosion, thinking we're pulling something big, so now you're gonna take our loot and scram, so you get the profit and we get nothing. Right?"

The pink-haired girl sniffed disdainfully. "Please. That is so B movie."

"I like movies," the big guy said. "'Specially the ones with car chases."

"Shut up, snot-surfer, the big kids are talking," the little one barked – somewhat ironically, Terra noted.

Terra glanced between the three. "Okay, I think I'm ready to revise my thesis now."

"Sorry, mucus-for-brains, but you only get one shot!" The bald kid grabbed a large remote control from one of the pockets in his jump suit, and fiddled with the switches. Instantly, his backpack sprouted four spider-like legs that lifted him off the ground. "Get ready to feel the pain, you pus-sniffing peons!"

A green blast of energy tore one of the mechanical legs out from under him, sending him sprawling to the ground again. Terra glanced at Koriand'r nervously, but shot her a thumbs-up nonetheless. The alien rolled her shoulders, loosening up for whatever might follow.

"Oh, so you're going to make this difficult?" The pink-haired girl observed, nonchalant. "Well—"

"You butt-munching piss-colored son-of-a-mouth-breather!" the boy wailed, furiously punching the buttons on his remote, forcing the now-three-legged contraption to its proverbial feet once more.

"Shut _up_, Gizmo, I'm _trying_ to deliver the message."

"Grab off, fruit loop, this is personal!"

"Uh," Terra carefully tapped the 'S' sigil on her chest. "Sir, we're gonna be a little later. Loonies at the door; just give me a few."

"Guys," the big one said. He was ignored. "Guys?"

"So help me, I'm gonna turn this scum-sucking ginger strumpet inside-out!" He started forward with heavy, clanking steps. Koriand'r bared her teeth and raised a hand—

A concrete column shot up from the floor, launching the one called Gizmo into the air, trailing a stream of relatively amusing invented insults. Terra rolled her eyes. "Yeah, we really don't have time for this. Just, like, give us back our stuff and you won't end up like him." She jerked a thumb towards the boy, who landed with a crunch into a pile of boxes on the other side of the room.

The pink-haired girl raised a thin eyebrow. "Cute trick. Want to see one of mine?" The girl flicked her wrist, and an almost imperceptible wave shot past Terra – she could've _sworn_ it was pink - and seeped into the wall behind her, rattling up the innumerable shelves with terrible foreboding. A second later, the brace of every single shelf on that wall snapped, sending all of their contents hurtling to the floor in a massive storage avalanche. Koriand'r was quicker, diving out of the way and taking Terra with her. The boxes smashed to the floor with a loud crash, and Terra hurried to her feet again, Koriand'r at her back.

"_Oops_," the girl said with a giggle. "Did I do that?"

"_Jinxie_," the big brute asked, like an exceptionally large child, "Jinxie, my turn now?"

"Eat your heart out, big guy." The girl rolled her eyes. "…And _please_ refrain from calling me that."

"Uh-huh." He cracked his knuckles, the nasty gleam in his eye unmistakable. "I'm gonna twist you up like a _pretzel_," he cackled, advancing towards Koriand'r and Terra.

The earthmover raised an eyebrow at him. "Let me guess, you like pretzels? …The ones with car chases, right?"

The big guy paused, blinking. "They have those?"

Terra looked at the alien, jerking her head towards the giant of a teen. Koriand'r shot forward, driving her fist into the brute's jaw. He stumbled back, now blinking in bewilderment. "Hey," he said, raising a hand to scratch his chin. He looked less than affected, which sent a bad feeling shuddering through both of the girls. "That wasn't nice."

"Neither is turning us into _pretzels_!" Terra snapped back.

"Oh. Yeah," he chuckled. "But I never said I was nice."

"Quit messing around, Mammoth," 'Jinxie' commanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh. Yeah." Mammoth started forward again grabbing for Terra, who just barely managed to duck under his grasp. Koriand'r swung out with a leg, kicking him hard in the arm. He flinched and drew back, cradling his limb. "Ow! That kind'a hurt!" Koriand'r kicked again, this time for his gut, but he grabbed her by the leg, swinging her bodily through a pile of heavy boxes, and then holding her up out of reach of his body.

Koriand'r growled and sputtered at him in her language, mildly dazed; she raised her hands to fire an energy blast, but Mammoth caught her by the arms too, holding her tight.

He grinned at her, trapped in his giant hands; his eyes were beady and his grin was huge. "How 'bout I rip off your wings, li'l butterfly?"

"Don't you _dare_-!" Terra roared, throwing her arms out, pushing a second, larger column of concrete out of the earth, driving it into Mammoth's gargantuan backside. He stumbled, losing his grip on Koriand'r's leg. Taking advantage of his loss, the alien twisted enough to kick him hard enough in the cheek that he lost his grip on her arms. From there, hands free, she loosed an emerald blast into his chest, blowing him backward several yards. He landed heavily in a pile of boxes.

"Impressive," the pink-haired girl mused coolly, watching.

"Don't look so cocky," Terra said with a glower, "You're _next_, pinky."

"Oh, I don't think so." The girl shook her head, looking just as annoyingly smug as she had been while her team was actually winning. As she spoke, the two beaten boys dusted themselves off and made their way to her side. "You see, this is just a test. And you two? You've failed more miserably than Mammoth on a math quiz."

The big guy chuckled for a moment, before the jibe sunk in. "…Hey!"

Terra stared at them, baffled. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, entirely." She grinned, and held up one of Slade's three boxes. Gizmo and Mammoth each held up another box, completing the set. "See? You fail. Later, losers!" With that, she and the boys fled down the metal corridor leading towards the exit.

"Crap," Terra muttered beneath her breath, starting forward with a limping gait. Before she could even get very far, Koriand'r swept her up and flew the both of them down the steel hall.

"Cuckoo birds have flown the nest, sir," Terra added, into the communicator. "With, um. Our stuff."

"Need I do _everything_ myself?"

"Bu-- W-We're in pursuit!"

"Better hurry, my dear. The distraction only lasts so long. You've already got more problems outside."

"_Crap,_" Terra growled. "What _now_?"

Koriand'r reached the outer doors, already ajar, within seconds. She slammed through them into the fenced area, where the alien halted suddenly. Terra spotted their new rivals, who seemed to be engaged in a new battle… with a big green elephant, a guy in a gray hoodie, and a guy in green tights with a red vest and black cape. Hoodie-guy released an ear-drum shattering, quite physical blast from one of his hands, directly into Mammoth's chest, and the impact sent the giant sprawling, the box tumbling from his hand.

Weird, but convenient, Terra noted.

Koriand'r's emerald gaze was switching back and forth between the newcomers; the earthmover nudged her and pointed upwards to the roof. "They don't see us yet, I think. So let's get outta here before they do."

Koriand'r took a split-second to process the request, and nodded. She leapt into the air and quickly alighted upon the rooftop of the warehouse, crouching just out of sight.

Terra held up a hand to Koriand'r, who set her down gently. "Okay. Okay, don't panic. We can work with this… I think."

"Where do you think you're going?" a low, raspy voice said, in dreary monotone, from behind.

Both Koriand'r and Terra froze, not turning, minds racing.

This was bad. This was going downhill _so fast_.

Koriand'r reacted first, though perhaps her solution was the least thought-out. She whipped around faster than the cloaked stranger could react, blasting her with a bright emerald flash of energy, knocking the other girl off her feet.

Then again, her solutions were generally very effective.

Terra heaved her arms upward, and the ground shook for a moment as large chunks separated themselves from the rest, floating upwards. One of said chunks carried off the box that had been dropped, which Terra received with a smug grin.

"…_wrong_…" uttered the felled stranger, slowly rising. Terra cocked an eyebrow at her. "_…not_ _supposed to… happen…_ _this way…_"

"Tell me about it," Terra muttered. She tilted her head, and Koriand'r took her by the waist and together the two flew over the battlefield.

"_Y-you're wrong_-!" the cloaked girl called after them, her voice cracking, as though she rarely raised it. She said something else, but the girls were already too far away to hear what the cloaked one had to say.

"Man, the world is just _full_ of crazies today, isn't it?" Terra chuckled, with a wry grin, cradling the box in her arms. "At least we got out with a consolation prize, huh?"

Koriand'r just blinked.

* * *

**A/N:** F-fourth wall cracking? No, I'm kidding, it's not. _Or is it?_ This was a surprisingly hard chapter to write, although I'm pretty sure it's about to get harder. Next time: things get_ out of hand_.

I know what you're thinking: how can it _get worse_? Well. You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?


End file.
